Absolution's Price
by SometimeSelkie
Summary: Draco's failing at his mission from the Dark Lord, his relationship with Pansy is strained, and Snape won't stop asking questions. He needs help desperately, but when he receives it he's drawn into more intrigue than he bargained for. HBP/DH, darkish.
1. Sowing

A/N: This is a work of fanfiction. Standard disclaimers apply.

**Absolution's Price**

**Chapter One: Sowing**

It had been a thoroughly infuriating session in the Room of Hidden Things.

The worst part was that the day had started out so well. Just fifteen minutes into his hour-long endeavour before supper, Draco had managed to get the hinge of the Vanishing Cabinet to move parallel to the panel for the first time. He'd allowed himself a celebratory rest as he slid the door forwards and backwards, feeling the absence of grinding as the stalwart mechanism stretched and contracted flawlessly. He'd dribbled some oil into the joint, then left the bottle in the cabinet and tugged the door closed. The bottle had remained, but even this hadn't fully deflated Draco, and he had returned to his repairs with a grim vigor. When Vince's Polyjuiced little-girl voice had called despondently that he was hungry, Draco had snapped at him to go on ahead. He'd been getting closer, he was sure of it...something in the paneling was off...

Half an hour later, he had to admit that he didn't fully understand what he was doing and he was liable to do more harm than good if he continued to work on an empty stomach. He groaned as he lifted his booksack over his shoulder – his arms were fatigued from his ineffectual carpentry, and McGonagall's Transfiguration essay couldn't be ignored any longer so he'd stopped by the library to check out several books on Liquid-State Transfiguration without really reading them first. He was so tired. How was he going to find the energy for the project when he was stretched to the brink and bone-weary as it was? He cracked the door of the Room open infinitesimally and took a long look into the hallway. Nothing moved, and he couldn't hear anything, so he slipped out the door and closed it in a practiced movement that looked more like he was leaning against the wall than anything else. With a frustrated sigh, he began the walk to the Great Hall.

As he dodged the portrait of Namblin the Rambler and ducked into his favoured shortcut, an obscure passage that re-emerged near the Entrance Hall, his strained bag split and his haphazardly-collected library books went sprawling over the stone floor, their pages crumpling beneath their heavy covers. Pince was going to have a fit if she saw their condition when he returned them, especially that copy of _Water-Wine Brewing, _which had to be hundreds of years old.

As he turned to the book in question, it was engulfed in flames. No, his mistake – it was obscured by a font of red hair. _Weasley_-red hair. "Give that back," he snapped, in no mood to suffer Gryffindors.

To his surprise, she did, making sure that the tome's pages were pressed flat first. He narrowed his eyes and snatched it from her outstretched hand. "Go away, Weaslette," he growled by way of thanks. She just stared at him like the stupid cow she was. Still, she made no hostile moves, so he turned his back on her and put the book back in his bag. When he turned back to his mess, he saw her on her knees, gathering his belongings to her. "What are you doing?" he asked in bewilderment, too tired to even threaten her.

"You're welcome, Malfoy," she said, picking up a notebook by the spine and fanning out the pages before placing it on her small pile. "Elemental Transfiguration, huh?" she said as she chose a new book. She opened it to a random chapter and began to thumb through the pages.

He was flabbergasted. "Go away!" he cried.

She didn't even flinch. "If you wanted me gone, you'd fight me."

The serene tone of her voice incited him to a sudden, desperate rage. How dare she sit there calmly as the world fell down around them? Couldn't she feel it? He drew his wand without preamble. "Be careful what you wish for, Weasley."

Something flashed in her eyes, but her wand didn't appear. Instead, she shot to her feet and shoved his books into his chest so hard that he stumbled backwards. He was too stunned to even attempt to grasp them, and they plummeted back to the ground. "Fuck you," she spat. "I was just trying to help."

"I don't need your help," he shot back.

"You need someone's help."

He needed someone's help. He couldn't go on like this, struggling to keep his schoolwork acceptable while devoting his time to his solo extracurricular pursuits. What he wouldn't give for a true assistant, someone to help him come up with contingency plans and troubleshoot the Vanishing Cabinet project while keeping his marks high enough to get Snape off his back. "I don't need _your _help," he reiterated.

Grim triumph lit her face. "You need help," she fairly crowed.

"Go tell your little friends that, why don't you," he suggested nastily. "Will they pay attention to you then? Will Potter finally look your way, his eyes green as a fresh-pickled toad?" He was spoiling for a fight now and had his wand at the ready.

Her eyes narrowed. "Get some sleep, Malfoy. You look awful." With that, she turned on her heel and stalked away.

Draco hated her. He nearly threw a curse after her. How dare she turn her back on him? How dare she not fight back? How dare she try to help-

Right. The books. He stooped to pick them up. How dare she touch his things? How dare she insinuate that he was visibly unwell?

"Where have you _been_?" Pansy hissed when he collapsed onto the bench at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.

"Library," he grunted.

She impaled her peach cobbler with her fork. "No you weren't. _I _was in the library. Waiting for you."

"I got my books and went back to my room when I didn't see you. I had a headache." He was certainly getting a headache now.

"You weren't in your room, either."

"Look, can we talk about this later? I'm starving."

"That's what you always say." Her jaw was clenched, but he could see a suspicious sheen to her eyes. Great. Just what he needed. "I want to know why you've been avoiding me."

The table hadn't yet noticed Pansy's unseemly display. Draco leaned over and spoke directly into her ear. "We are not having this conversation," he said tightly.

"Fine," she snapped, jumping up from the table. She stormed out of the Great Hall, leaving her half-eaten dessert behind. Vince shrugged and pulled the cobbler to him.

Draco glared at him, then at Greg, then glanced over at the half-empty Gryffindor table. Potter and Granger were laughing uproariously at something the Weasel King was saying. The scene only strengthened his sour mood. Ginny Weasley was nowhere to be found.


	2. Tending

**Chapter Two: Tending**

Two nights later found Draco in the library an hour before curfew, glaring across the stacks at Granger's customary table. The Mudblood had been monopolizing Hogwarts' only copy of _Air and Water Magicks_ for hours. Draco's head drooped momentarily; he caught himself before his chin hit his chest and he snapped upright. At the rate things were going, he was liable to pass out before getting the book. His arms ached from another fruitless crack at the Vanishing Cabinet, and now he resented going to the Room of Hidden Things at all; if he hadn't, perhaps he would've reached the book before the know-it-all got it in her head to memorise the entire thing.

He could _Incendio_ the entire room and laugh while it burned. While he burned with it. He could almost envision flames licking at the edge of his vision. No, his mistake – it was Weasley-red hair. Draco growled in frustration as Ginny Weasley popped into his line of vision.

"I thought I told you to get some sleep," she said lightly.

"I would if I could," he muttered as he glared at Granger.

"What is it?" she asked, trying to follow his eyes.

"Go. Away."

"If you try anything with Hermione, I'll hex you," she said calmly.

Draco sighed. "If I _wanted_ to try anything, I would've already. I'm just waiting. I need that book."

She sighed, clearly doing an impression of him, and strolled away. Draco snarled at her retreating back, then went back to boring a hole in Granger's skull with his psychic powers. He suddenly found his view interrupted by Weasley's red hair once again; she was sitting down at Granger's table with a charming smile. He hated her easy manner, and the way Granger broke immediately into congenial whispers. Well, of course – _she _didn't have anything to worry about. _Her_ essay was likely finished; _her_ family wasn't in danger.

He hated them both.

"Hey."

He hadn't realised that he'd closed his eyes again. Weasley was approaching him with an armload of books. She laid the top one on his table as she passed. "You're welcome," she muttered, continuing on to the book return without breaking her stride.

"What is this?" Pansy whispered moments later as she slid into the seat across from him. "You've taught Gryffindors to play fetch now?"

"Apparently so," he murmured, opening _Air and Water Magicks_. "Who knew that her dearest ambition was to become a librarian?"

* * *

It was so dark that when Draco looked around he saw bursts of colour instead of shadowy shapes, his eyes compensating for lack of stimulation by inventing a nonsensical landscape. He could've lit a candle, or his wand, but instead he remained still, his coverlet pulled up to his chin, hoping that the Dreamless Sleep residue he'd licked from his last empty phial would do something. He couldn't risk asking Professor Snape for any more, considering the interrogation he'd received from his Head of House before he'd provided the last batch, the condescending offers of aid. Snape didn't understand. This job was for Draco alone.

Here in the dark, Draco could be honest with himself: he was terrified. Before, he had shed tears in the shelter of his bed, had wept bitterly over the smallest hitch in his plans. Lately a sort of bald horror had taken over as he came to accept his fate, and all he could do was clutch his pillow and stare dry-eyed into the deceptive calm of his surroundings, guilt wracking him as he thought of the price of his failures. If he failed, his mother was forfeit, and failure was looking more probable with every passing day. How was he supposed to accept that? How could he prepare himself? He worked in the Room of Hidden Things every chance he had, plodding along relentlessly, no longer becoming excited about his successes or moody when faced with setbacks. The work was coming along, but so slowly.

Sometimes he allowed himself a bare sliver of hope, a brief delusion that something might change and break the pact he'd been forced into. Perhaps the old man would just die of his own accord. Perhaps the Dark Lord would see it fit to add someone else to the mission. He touched his forearm, the symbol that was supposed to mean that he'd never be alone again, that he was a part of something bigger. He'd never felt more alone in his life. He couldn't speak his plans aloud to hear how they sounded, something he'd always used Vince and Greg for in the past, and confiding in Pansy was out of the question, no matter how shrill she became over the issue. _Does Potter ever feel this way?_ he wondered suddenly, and dismissed the thought with disgust. What could he possibly have to hide? His job was to survive. It was a much more sympathetic occupation than Draco's. Everyone openly supported him, and Weasley and Granger always had his back. Potter and Dumbledore had an _army, _for God's sake. Draco wondered what that felt like. He wanted an army. He wanted anything.


	3. Pruning

**Chapter Three: Pruning**

Every muscle ached. Draco trudged off the pitch in a foul mood. He was so covered in mud that the drizzle wasn't doing anything to wash it away. His shoulder was burning from hefting his broom, so much so that if he looked to the side he saw literal flames.

"If you keep flying like that they're going to throw you off the team."

Or perhaps it was just Weasley-red hair. "Tell me something I don't know," he snarled, not breaking his stride. He didn't even bother to ask what she was doing out here in the rain.

"You look so tired," she said, immediately breaking his rule. Pansy had told him the same thing at lunch. He hated her so much – Weasley, that is.

"No time to chat," he sneered, breezing off into the safety of the boys' showers. He left his mud-spattered uniform in a pile by his bag and stepped into the blissfully hot shower. The steam improved his breathing, which made him realise that he was beginning to get sick. Perfect. That was just what he needed on top of everything else. He leaned against the shower wall and allowed the water to drum against his aching muscles, waiting until they relaxed under the steady stream. At least his shoulder had loosened up a bit. He emerged from the showers in a cloud of steam with a towel wrapped around his waist, considerably cheered by the prospect of a hot supper now that Theo's criticisms were fading towards the back of his mind.

"Took you long enough."

Draco screamed and clutched his towel tightly. "What are you doing in here?" he shrieked at the Weasley girl, who was seated beside his bag.

She was utterly unfazed. "Get dressed," she said, tossing his robes at him.

Too surprised to do anything else, he caught them against his body, nearly losing his towel in the process. His robes had been in his bag. "Have you been going through my _things_, you crazy bint?" he asked in disbelief.

"Get dressed," she repeated, and he retreated to the showers with his cargo.

As he yanked his pants on, disbelief quickly gave way to red-hot anger. "This is the last straw, Weasley," he seethed as he pulled his robe over his head. "You've got thirty seconds to put back whatever you've stolen or I'm reporting you to McGonagall. I should anyways, for being in here in the first place." He stalked back out of the showers, socks in his fist. "I've had enough of your-" He stopped short. She had her wand trained on him.

"Do be quiet," she said, "and sit down."

_His_ wand was in her other hand. "Ten seconds," he said, glaring at it pointedly. "Put it back."

She opened his bag and laid his wand beside some phials that hadn't been there when he'd left for practice. "I've got some Dreamless Sleep in here for you, and some mild calming draughts."

Dreamless Sleep. He could've kissed her. "As if I would ever ingest anything you gave me," he sneered. "Now get away from my bag."

She let the bag fall closed. "I'm trying to help you."

"I'll bet you are. Why are you really here?"

"You're always alone," she said, "even in a crowd. You can't be arsed to bother Harry and Ron anymore. You're preoccupied, and all of your energy is going into keeping secrets."

Every word was a poisoned dart nailing Draco to his seat. He fought for breath, but the very air had thickened. Magic. Draco threw up his Occlumency shields as best as he could while quietly panicking. "What are you doing?" he croaked.

"I'm not doing anything," she murmured, but she was; the words washed some of his panic away even as he recognised the lie. "You're crumbling under the weight of your secrets. I'll bet you barely sleep and spend most of your waking hours doing things no one would understand."

"Stop it," he whispered. Her witchery was stripping away his defences.

"I'm not here to make you feel badly," she said quickly. "I want you to know that I understand."

"How can you _possibly_ understand?" he hissed, not bothering to deny anything she said. He supposed he was going to have to kill her too, and soon. She already knew too much.

"I do, and I'm here to help you."

His laugh came out more like a sob. "You don't mean that."

"It's true. I brought Drea-"

"We're enemies, Weasley." He'd meant to sound harsh but his voice had a desperate edge to it.

She turned the full force of her gaze on him then, and he sucked in his breath as he was bathed in compassion. "We may be adversaries," she said softly, with the calm and patience of an immortal, "but I'm not your enemy."

Draco bowed his head, blinking back sudden tears. The grace radiating from Ginny Weasley was so pure as to be divine, and it was more than he deserved. She absolved him from judgement and offered to share his burden. The kindness was too much for him to bear. He buried his face in his hands, awash in humiliation and relief. "I can't just tell you everything," he mumbled when he could trust his voice.

"Of course not. It's too dangerous for both of us. But if there are things you have to share – hopes, fears, dreams – I'll listen."

"I'm so afraid," he whispered, the confession an unworthy offering for her altar.

"I should've come to you earlier. I'm so sorry."

Her influence over him began to subside, leaving him weak-kneed and clammy but less anxious than he'd felt in days. "What magic is this?" he asked again.

"I'm not doing anything," she repeated with a tiny, reassuring smile.

For the first time, he wondered if the magic was coming from him.

* * *

Supper tasted better than any meal in recent memory, even though he'd barely reached the food before platters started disappearing. Draco credited Ginny for this minor miracle, too. His interlude with her had infused him with energy, and he intended to run down to his dorm to collect Vince to keep watch for him so he could visit the Room. He didn't make it further than the Slytherin common room, where all of the sixth-year boys were lounging. "Greg, run my bag up to my room. Vince?" He inclined his head towards the door he'd just come through.

Blaise smirked at him from a chair. "We're not going up there until you get her out of there."

"Sorry?"

"Pansy," Greg supplied.

"She's gone 'round the bend," Vince added.

"She drove us all out of the room with her histrionics," Blaise sighed. "Now go clean up whatever mess you've made."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "For the love of...does anyone know what her problem is?"

"She says it's you."

Draco muttered more choice words under his breath as he trudged to his dorm. Pansy was sprawled on his bed, looking a fright – hair mussed, makeup smeared beyond repair, robes rumpled. So much for the wonderful evening he'd been enjoying. "I suppose you think you're clever," was the first thing she said, her voice low and raspy.

"Not particularly," he rejoined, dropping his bag at the foot of his bed.

"How long?" Her lower lip quivered. "She brought you a book that time."

What? "Look, could you at least tell me what I've done wrong so I know what you're referring to?" he snapped.

"_Her_."

Draco looked at her expectantly, every inch the haughty Malfoy heir, but inside, he quailed. It was too soon. No, Ginny was supposed to be his secret solace. Pansy wasn't supposed to know anything, she couldn't. He'd kept her utterly separate from his whole mission, partially because including her was forbidden but also because part of him relished the notion of falling into her when this whole business was concluded and knowing that she was still whole, that he'd been able to keep the full horror from her.

"You got Theo to cover for you and didn't think I'd ever catch on, didn't you? _God_," she muttered, swiping at her cheeks. "I saw the two of you together." She waited for a response, but he remained mute. "I went to meet you after the boys said you were doing extra Quidditch drills. She met you on your way to the showers. You both went in. You didn't come out for – well, I don't know," she admitted, her voice thinning to a whisper. "After twenty minutes, I couldn't wait any longer."

"You've got it all wrong. She's the enemy, you know that," he crooned, the lie slipping from his lips so easily because it had been the truth for so long. "She tried to incite me into giving something away for her precious Potter."

Pansy's hair flew out around her as she gave her head a vehement shake. "You can't fool me. Never again."

"I'm telling the-"

Draco flew backwards and slammed into the wall. Pansy's wand flicked a second time before he even had time to draw breath and his wand arm started to tingle unpleasantly.

"Finish that sentence and I'll hex your bollocks off, I swear I will. We both know you haven't told me a single truth in a long while."

His arm started to writhe of its own accord, the tingling sensation intensifying. "Stop," he gasped.

"We're through, Draco," she muttered. "You don't trust me and you don't respect me."

He wasn't sure if it was the mounting pain in his arm or the matter-of-fact tone of her voice, but the significance her words didn't register with him immediately. Never in his imaginings had he thought that Pansy would end things calmly – and it was a thing he'd imagined often since things became rocky between them. "Don't do this," he said, because it was the only thing he could think to say.

"I'm not doing anything," she said and he shivered with deja vu, half expecting her head to break into Weasley-red flames. "You did this."

Maybe when all of this was done he'd be able to return to her and explain the circumstances, salvage what they'd had. He knew from her calm that tonight was not the time for such gestures, that her mind was made up for now. He filed his relationship with Pansy aside – he'd been doing it for so long that it was old habit – and focused on the next issue at hand. "What are you going to do?" he asked, caution making him whisper as he grasped his arm, trying to still it even though it only made the pain worse.

She looked surprised, as if his supplication had softened her, and she cancelled the jinx that was making his arm flail. "Get on with my life, I suppose. I'm done crying over you."

"No, I mean about her."

Her features hardened in an instant and she gave a mirthless titter. "I'm going to sit back and enjoy the show, luv. I'm going to let you hang yourself with this one – if her brother doesn't kill you, if the ridicule of your house isn't enough when this breaks, she'll do you in herself."

The relief that swept through Draco clarified his mind. She wasn't going to tell anyone. He could keep Ginny and he'd finish his task unmolested. His mother would live.

"She's not like you, Draco," Pansy warned him. "She'll never understand your dark corners, and she'll run from you in the end."

Little did she know. "You should probably go," he said.

Her mouth dropped open. "That's all you have to say to me? After all this time?"

He shrugged.

She stomped to the door and flung it open. "I loved you once," she snapped. "Merlin knows why."


	4. Sunlight

A/N: We've reached the calm before the storm, so to speak. The darkishness alluded to in the summary will take hold shortly.

**Chapter Four: Sunlight**

Draco pocketed his Foe Glass, finally convinced that the hallway was indeed deserted. One could never be too careful; Potter had a knack for popping up out of nowhere at the most inopportune moments, and Draco had more reason than ever to suspect that his arch-nemesis would be lurking nearby, despite the fact that it was past midnight. "_Homenum revelio,_" Draco whispered, sweeping his wand across the door he was about to enter. One body inside. He exhaled slowly. She was staring out the large windows of the disused conservatory from her desktop when Draco crept into the room, her long red hair a column of flame in the darkness. He knocked lightly on the door to make sure she wouldn't startle. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "Thank you for meeting me tonight."

Ginny smiled in a way that made Draco feel like he should drop to his knees in thanksgiving, that someone like her should care for someone like him. "It's okay. I've been watching the grounds. The moon is so bright tonight."

He approached her and spared a glance out the windows. "Pretty." His heart was still beating abnormally fast. It had started hammering the moment he'd set out from the Room of Hidden Things. So much could have gone wrong. He could've been caught by Filch or Peeves. She could've told her Gryffindor pals that he'd set up the meeting and orchestrated an ambush. She could've simply not come. But here they were and now an awkwardness was settling over him. This was madness. What good could possibly come from this?

"The Dreamless Sleep has been helping," she decided as she ran a critical eye over him. "You look better than you have in weeks." It was ridiculous, but he flushed from her praise. She patted the desk next to her, inviting him to sit. "How do you feel?"

"Anxious," he admitted as he settled in beside her, "but not quite as exhausted as before."

"That's what the calming draughts are for."

He shook his head. "I try not to use them. Now that I'm a bit more rested I use the nervous energy to get things done when I can. I don't want to get complacent now. It's bad enough that I already lose hours to...I don't even know what. I'll just come to myself in the middle of supper, say, and my last memory is from Charms that morning." He knew he was babbling on about things of no real consequence, but at the same time he realised that he hadn't been able to talk about even mundane topics like this with his friends since he'd come back to Hogwarts. He was too worried about projecting strength and keeping his task secret. "Obviously I haven't fallen asleep, so I suppose my brain's offered me a vacation of sorts and carried on without me."

"How terrifying," Ginny said with a soft gasp.

"No, it's more amusing than anything. I mean, if something important had happened, I'd remember, I'm sure."

"Are you?" Her brown eyes were soft with concern. "It sounds to me like you're starting to dissociate."

"Really, I'm just tired."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes. I guess," he said with a shrug, backing off of his original assessment because he enjoyed her attentions.

"You're losing time and you don't mind?" She eyed him doubtfully.

"Not much I can do about it, is there?"

"Fight it. Stay aware. You have to remember what's going on around you, what you're doing. It may be important."

Draco shivered as he realised she was giving him advice on how to wage war on her. "I think things will improve once I'm rested."

The look she gave him was worthy of McGonagall. "Make sure they do."

With the topic exhausted, Draco looked down at his feet. He hadn't come here to be lectured. He'd come for healing, but all he felt now was vague annoyance. Still, he reasoned, she wouldn't have reprimanded him unless she cared. She was watching him intently, waiting. All the thoughts he wanted to express lodged in his throat, jockeying for release. Where to start? What would she think?

"Alright, Draco?" she asked. "You're looking peaky."

He shook his head to clear it. "Fine. It's just...I don't know what to do."

"About what?"

He gestured between the two of them. "This."

She shifted on the desk. "Use me," she said simply. "Things are tearing you up inside."

"I don't know where to start," he sighed.

"Wherever you'd like. The next thought that comes into your head."

So he plucked a thought out of the jumble. "It's too much," he whispered. "He asks too much. I think he wants me to fail." They were thoughts he'd never voiced to his friends. It was heresy.

She just nodded. "He often doesn't think of others," she said carefully.

"He'll kill my mum."

Ginny started. "What?"

"That's my punishment if I don't..." To Draco's horror, he began tearing up. He'd thought he was far beyond this, ensconced in his bald acceptance, but admitting this to her was breaking the wound open anew. "I can't," he sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut, feeling the guilt and grief wash over him with the intensity that it had at the beginning of this nightmare.

Something brushed his cheek and he jerked back with a gasp. Ginny was before him with her hand outstretched, nothing but compassion in her expression – no disgust or revulsion, not even pity. "He has no right," she murmured, reaching out again to wipe the tears from his cheek.

He was too astonished to pull away. No one had offered him this type of comfort in months, not since his relationship with Pansy had begun its slow decline. Before he knew what was happening, he was crying into Ginny's shoulder while she rubbed his back as one would comfort a toddler. "It's all going to be my fault," he sobbed. "My fault."

"None of this is your fault, Draco," she whispered ferociously. "Do you hear me? _This is not your fault_. You're doing what you must. Stay strong."


	5. The Scythe

**Chapter Five: The Scythe**

Draco slipped into the conservatory and leaned against the door as it closed. Ginny turned to him with a warm smile on her face. "I haven't seen you in days," she chided as they started towards each other.

He wrapped his arms around her. "I've been busy."

"You're overexerting yourself, aren't you?" she asked, returning his embrace.

"I'm fine." At the moment, his words were true. Everything became fine when he was ensconced in this room. Since they'd begun their meetings he'd gained more focus, leaving him to complete all of his tasks unfettered. "I'd be less overexerted if you'd write my History essay for me."

"Very funny," she said, breaking away from him to rummage through her bag. "I've got some Pepper-Up Potion in case you start feeling ill again. Are you sure you don't need more calming draughts?"

"I'm not taking calming draughts anymore," Draco reminded her. "They dull my thinking, and I need my wits about me."

She regarded him shrewdly. "Something's changed, hasn't it?"

"In a way," he said, unable to keep a small grin of triumph off his face. "I think I might best him yet. I really think I can do it."

"So, your mother..."

He nodded, his entire body thrilling with tension. Things in the Room had been progressing swiftly, and he was finally confident in the cabinet's mechanisms.

"Congratulations," she said softly.

"Don't congratulate me yet," he warned her. "There's still much to be done." Just the thought of his endgame sent his stomach roiling with anxiety. But at least it was possible now. So much to do. His abdomen clenched and he remembered one item from his long to-do list. He made sure that he had her attention, then held her gaze. "One day I'm going to tell you to leave Hogwarts and not come back 'til the next day, no questions asked. Can you do that for me?"

"Of course not," she answered cheerfully.

"This isn't a game," he snapped. "Your life will be at stake."

She gave a careless shrug. "Draco, my life's been in mortal peril for years now." What an odd way to put things. "I nearly died once. I don't fear death."

He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders. "You don't understand. You'll need to leave."

Finally, he was able to shock her partway out of her serenity. "Is the school really in danger?" she whispered.

"Yes," he said, "but there's nothing you can do about it. Trust me, Ginny. It's best if you're gone."

"I'll stay," she reiterated. "You knew I'd stay."

"How can you do this?" he shouted at her. "How can you keep switching sides?" A remote corner of his brain registered that this was the question he should have been asking all along.

She was inscrutable. "I've never switched sides. I helped you because you needed help. I'll help Hogwarts because it's right."

She wasn't making sense, but in the end her answer didn't matter. "Don't you get it?" he cried, shaking her a bit. "You could _die_. Even if you're okay with that, I'm not. I can't bear it," he whispered, touching his forehead to hers when she didn't respond. "Not after all of this. Don't you see?" How could he explain to her that he'd laid all his hope at her altar and allowed her to embody all that was good in the world? That he lived for these moments in this room when he could let part of his guard down and share that part of him that he had to bury behind a veneer when others were around? That he'd drown without her magic to calm him, her forgiveness to lighten his heart?

Her arms twined around his neck and she stroked his nape gently. "We do what we must," she murmured and he felt despair well up in him.

"No," he whispered, groping blindly for her hips and holding her fast, trying to compensate for the idealogical distance between them. "I can't lose you."

She gave a tiny nod, her forehead shifting against his. Their noses bumped together and Draco's chest tightened with guilt as he became acutely aware of his hands on her hips and her red hair fanning around his face, drenching them both in her fire. Until now he hadn't aspired to be more than her supplicant, and he hated himself for desiring her in this moment. "I'm sorry," he muttered, reluctantly dropping his hands.

She surged forward and kissed him then, and he was shocked at how hot and insistent her mouth was. He held back, unable to believe what was happening, until she twined her fingers in his hair and brought herself flush against him. It was wrong, but he couldn't help drawing her closer and diving into her, moaning against her open mouth when she trailed one of her hands across his shoulder and down his chest. Her lips were so full, her skin so soft. She broke away to press her lips to his throat and his hips rolled against her of their own volition, making them both gasp.

"Ginny," he breathed, burying his face in her hair and allowing his hand to stray to her breast.

She arched her back to intensify the contact. "Yes," she hissed, returning to his mouth while her hands reached down to palm him through his robes.

Things moved so fast. He had no time to savour her responses or draw out any moments of pleasure. One minute, they were fully clothed; the next, his robes were on the floor and Ginny was running her finger absently over his Mark before pushing him down on his back. She shucked her robes and divested herself of her cotton bra and knickers without ceremony, and his mouth went dry as she straddled him. From her freckle-dusted shoulders to her rounded breasts to the swell of her hip, she was everything he could possibly want laid out before him. Sprawled beneath her in naught but his tented pants and loafers, Draco felt horribly inadequate. He couldn't. This was wrong.

She drew up a bit, sensing his change of heart, and surveyed him with those large brown eyes, but didn't say a word. When he froze under her gaze, she laid a hand on his concave belly over the waistband of his pants and began to slide her fingers underneath.

"Wait," he blurted. Her fingers halted their progress. "We should wait. You deserve – you deserve a bed, at least." She deserved romance and roses and a bloke she didn't have to fix.

"But I need you now," she breathed, her eyes dark and luminous. Something deep inside him thrilled at her words. She slipped her hand below his waistband and he had to clench his teeth to stifle a moan. Uncertainty flickered over her face. "Don't you want me?"

"I do, I do," he groaned and she freed him from his damp pants. "It's just-"

"Then love me, Draco." Before he could answer, she grasped his erection firmly and settled herself over it.

_Wait_. There was still so much he needed to say, things they had to discuss, and all he could think of as she ground down on him fruitlessly – Draco had never reckoned on the force needed to enter a girl – were the ways he would've made this better, but he grasped her hips and pulled her down towards him all the same. Then she shifted and slid onto him in one fell motion and any number of oaths were born in his heart and died on his tongue. She was so tight around him that his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. Ginny, for her part, looked absolutely startled and she made a little sound though her lips were clamped shut. It took a moment for him to realise she wasn't breathing. "Are you okay?" he panted.

"Yes." The one word seemed to jog her out of her shock and her lips curved into a small, secret smile. Then her hips rocked under his hands and he finally understood. _Love me_. She knew how he felt about her, and she'd told him bluntly she needed _him_, even after she'd seen him broken. This had to happen; this was the absolution he'd been seeking all along. Nothing else mattered. She was starting to slide over him now and thought became nigh impossible. The air around them sparked with the magic they were creating and it was too much and he wasn't going to last. She whispered as they moved, and Draco couldn't make out her words, but it didn't matter as the sparks penetrated his skin and he made one last desperate thrust against her before he lost control completely, spilling into her.

The force of his climax left him lightheaded and he floated back to Earth slowly, limp and sated and, truth be told, a bit smug at finally shagging a girl. Ginny Weasley was his.

And Ginny Weasley was shrieking.


	6. Reaping

A/N: The first half of this chapter was the original end of this story, but just before I started posting the story my mind extended the plot into _Deathly Hallows_. As such, I've pared down this next scene substantially from what I'd intended to hold some information in reserve, although there's probably enough clues left here to let you guess the full story. So if you _do_ guess...I hope you enjoy dramatic irony?

**Chapter Six: Reaping**

"Where are you?" Ginny screamed.

Still reeling from his orgasm, Draco was unable to be truly alarmed, but he blinked up at the naked witch he was still sheathed inside and propped himself up onto his elbows. "What in Merlin's name you doing? Filch'll hear us."

She shot him a contemptuous look. "Don't you remember all the charms I put on this room?" Draco shrugged helplessly – he didn't – and the contempt melted off her face, replaced by wonder. "Unless...Tom?" she asked, reaching out to touch Draco's jaw. "Is that you?"

"What?"

Her eyes widened in horror. "Oh no. No, no, no!" She jammed a fist in her mouth, looking fit to burst into tears.

He still wasn't quite sure what had happened, but it seemed like Ginny was suffering some sort of psychotic break. Was it because of him? Was this the terrible price of his healing? "Ginny, what's wrong?" he asked, reaching out to touch her elbow.

She ignored him. "This is impossible. I saw the sparks."

"Those were real?"

"And all the signs were there. You...Harry said...Oh Merlin, Harry..."

"Potter?" All of Draco's afterglow evaporated on the spot and suspicion began to take root. "What's he got to do with anything?"

"Stop talking, Malfoy," she snapped.

"I won't. Considering that's _me_ inside your quim right now, I think I have the right to – aaargh!" He collapsed flat on the floor, his eye socket exploding into pain. "What the bloody fuck?"

She'd punched him in the face, and now she was on her feet with her robes in one hand and her wand in the other. "Last chance, Malfoy," she said coldly. "Where is Tom Riddle?"

Draco scrambled to his feet, one hand holding his throbbing cheek and the other tugging up his pants. "Ease up a moment, Ginny. I need you to explain-"

"WHERE IS HE?"

He held up his arms in surrender. "Ginny, I swear, I have no idea what you're talking about. Please. Don't do this."

"Don't lie to me! The dreams...the lost time..."

He could feel her resolve waver. Watching her like this was tearing him apart. She was supposed to be the calm one, the goddess, the healer. He'd tainted her, sacrificed her for his family's sake, and he didn't know if it was possible to atone for it. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

She was gone, so abruptly that the image of her red hair was still seared on his corneas. No, wait. It wasn't her hair. It was fire consuming the doorway. Draco scrambled through his discarded robes for his wand, spun around, and shouted, "_Aguamenti_!" The jet of water hit the fireball and evaporated. "_Finite incantatum_!" he tried next. The fire turned to him with a roar.

Fiendfyre.

* * *

Draco had to wonder how much more Dumbledore had known about the goings-on in Hogwarts than the old man had ever let on. A team of Unspeakables had been summoned to the castle just when Draco had been sure he was done for, and if the headmaster had been surprised to discover Draco in the room in his underwear, he hadn't let it show. After a short but stern talking-to about the hazards of Fiendfyre (which Draco had admitted to conjuring, as no other explanation would be believed), Dumbledore had turned him over to Snape to oversee his punishment. Snape, naturally, was furious, and Draco had accepted his detentions with grace, unable to believe that Dumbledore hadn't expelled him on the spot for the situation. Sadly, Draco had not been at liberty to reciprocate Dumbledore's compassion.

Draco had awoken the day after his fiery ordeal to a throbbing face. He hadn't needed to look in a mirror to know how bad the damage was, and he had simply sealed his bedcurtains and demanded that Blaise bring Pansy to him. When she'd announced her presence with a curt, "What?", he'd opened the curtain and let her see. Her stormy face could've been carved from stone except for the muscle jumping at her jawline, and after he'd lowered his gaze deferentially beneath her inspection, she'd ordered him to stay put and retrieved her cosmetics. Between her glamours and creams, Draco had emerged looking like he'd merely stabbed himself in the eye, and as the conservatory had been derelict and in a disused corner of the school, there was no gossip to be had.

He hadn't gone seeking Ginny – it was an unspoken _verboten_ – but he'd owled her daily with the same message. _The Astronomy Tower at the usual time_. She never came. After the fourth night he'd accepted her resignation, but he found he'd grown used to confessing his thoughts and went looking for her replacement. The ghost who constantly spied on him in the Prefect bath did nicely, he discovered after talking to himself while he toweled himself dry. It wasn't the same, but it had been enough.

If he'd harboured any illusions that Ginny still cared for him, that she simply needed time to cleanse herself from the way he'd tainted her, they had been dispelled during that night in the hospital wing after his disastrous duel with Potter. Surely she would've come. And then, scant weeks later, it had become obvious that Ginny and Potter were Together. It stung, more than he liked to admit, but he hoped that Potter was able to soothe her and make her whole again.

So he had failed by any measure – he hadn't killed Dumbledore and Potter had nearly killed him and he'd lost Pansy and broken Ginny – but he'd achieved his ultimate goal all the same. When his mother had thrown her arms around him after that terrible night in the tower, he'd all but wept in relief. And when his father had joined them weeks later, he had been consumed by a simple happiness he hadn't known in years. They were a family again. Nothing else mattered.

The halcyon days lasted until the Dark Lord moved in.


	7. A New Day

**Chapter Seven: A New Day**

Hogwarts was a relief. Draco never thought he'd feel that way. Perversely, he felt safer than ever at the school now that the Dark Lord was in charge, and all he had to do in order to stay safe was to obey. If Snape called him into his office and asked for a report on staff compliance to the school's new edicts, he sang like a bird. If he was assigned an essay on why Muggles required herd management, he wrote it. If the re-formed Inquisitorial Squad was _strongly encouraged _to volunteer for extra credit helping to discipline reticent students, he signed himself up.

This attitude was what had brought him to the door of the Muggle Studies classroom after class one Thursday. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy," Alecto Carrow said with a twisted grin as she let him in, "right on time."

Ginny Weasley was slumped against the teacher's desk. Draco's breath caught. He hadn't been this near to her since the night she tried to kill him last year. She stayed in a heap on the floor, not even bothering to look up at his entrance. Threads of panic began to take root in Draco's chest. He wasn't scared that she would attack him again. That would make some sort of sense, even if it was illogical. No, he was afraid for her.

"Surprised, are you?" Alecto cooed, drawing a finger down Draco's arm. "Many purebloods struggle with Muggle Studies. They don't often think about lesser beings, and not all students are as...attuned...as you are to the issues facing wizardkind. Your last essay was wonderful," she remarked, "but I didn't expect anything less from you."

"Thank you, Professor," Draco said automatically, tearing his eyes away from Ginny to look down modestly. Alecto grasped his hands and he repressed a shudder.

"If only she was half the student you are," Alecto lamented, pulling him towards Ginny, who hadn't moved. "She pulled a Troll in my last quiz."

"Would you like me to tutor her, Professor?" Draco asked immediately. _Please._ It was just a quiz. Ginny looked up at him now, incredulity lacing her features.

"It wouldn't help," Alecto clucked. "She makes a mockery of her studies. There's only one way to get through to students like this." She gave him a sidelong look. "I was talking to your Aunt Bellatrix the other evening, and she was concerned that some of the more advanced skills she'd taught you were going to waste. We can fix that now. Go on." She gestured towards Ginny.

"Professor?"

"She won't fight back, not that you'd have any problem taking her on, I'd reckon. I've taken her wand," Alecto said, patting her desk drawer.

"Shall I...jinx her, then?"

Alecto pursed her lips. "What would the Dark Lord do to a witch who believes in rights for Muggles?"

Draco had no idea what the answer to that question was, but he certainly knew what Alecto thought the consequence would be. She was already smiling the smile Draco had seen far too often from her and her brother. _Just fifteen minutes_, he reminded himself, grateful that Snape had shortened detentions in light of the new punishment guidelines. He drew his wand and found that he couldn't meet Ginny's gaze as he slowly took his stance, his heart beating furiously. Not this. Not her. Before he lost his nerve entirely, he let the incantation slip from his lips. "_Crucio_!"

Ginny flinched and stared up at him. Draco felt his shoulders slump forward under his failure, but deep relief coursed through him even as he tensed for Alecto's punishment.

"Bellatrix was right to come to me. You're woefully out of practice. Shall I demonstrate for you?" she asked, twirling her wand idly.

No. Anything but that. He didn't even know who she was threatening, him or Ginny. "No, I know my error. I lost my concentration. Let me try again." He took a deep breath and thought of the Fiendfyre, of Ginny kissing Potter, of his unanswered owls. "_Crucio_!"

This time Ginny screamed, and the sound took him right back to that moment in the conservatory months ago when she'd turned on him. Rather than snapping back to the present, he forced himself to stay in the memory, feeding his own pain back to her. She'd left him when he needed her most with no explanation. She'd spoken Potter's name in a sacred moment. She'd humiliated him in front of Dumbledore and Snape. She'd refused to let him help her. With this last thought, he hurtled back to the present, where Ginny was writhing on the floor, screaming. The sight so horrified him that he dropped the curse.

"_Much_ better," Alecto murmured as Ginny gasped and shook on the floor. "You've grasped the basics. With some pointers..." She trailed off and clutched at her forearm. "Not you?" she asked Draco after a moment, and he shook his head. "Why don't you keep practicing, then?" she suggested with a wink. "It'll save me from calling her back tomorrow...provided she doesn't earn another detention."

"Of course, Professor." _Saved by the Dark Lord,_ Draco marveled as Alecto swept out of the room. He brandished his wand at Ginny. "Scream," he commanded. "Or I'll curse you again."

Ginny rolled onto her back and let out an ear-piercing shriek, adding a sob as she ran out of breath. Draco's free hand clenched into a fist and he cursed himself for ever signing up for this. Blind obedience had given him a sort of peace and numbed his anxieties, and five minutes in this room had torn his fragile calm to shreds. He'd put Ginny Weasley away in a dusty corner of his mind months ago, to be revisited only in his dreams that left him panting and uneasy. Now he'd been forced to stir up old emotions in his waking life, and questions he had assumed could never be answered were flooding his mind. "Stop," he said as she drew in breath to start again, confident that Alecto had heard enough as she'd rushed off. He conjured a lopsided metal cup on the teacher's desk and filled it with water before reaching a hand down to her. "Can you stand?" She struggled to her feet without his help, leaning heavily on the desk. "Here," he said, offering her the cup. "It's just water," he said when she hesitated. She hadn't looked his way once. "Are you okay?"

She choked a bit on the water and slammed the cup down on the desk. "How dare you?" she rasped.

"How dare I what?" he snapped. "Offer you a drink instead of putting you under the Cruciatus? Try to turn your detention into tutoring? I think the words you're looking for are 'thank you, Draco'."

She looked at him then, her lips twisted into a wordless snarl, and Draco wanted to throw her against the wall and beat the anger out of her. Where had the girl from last year gone? What had he done to her? "Meet me at midnight," he found himself saying.

"What, do you have another mission you need my help for?" she spat.

"No. We're going to talk."

"You've got to be joking."

"I'm not. Be there or I'll sic the Carrows on you, and don't think I won't. You saw how I have Alecto wrapped around my finger."

Her mouth was set in a hard line, but there was trepidation in her eyes. "I'd have to be crazy to break curfew."

"Then get crazy, because that's exactly what you're going to do."

"We have nothing do discuss."

"We have _everything _to discuss. I'm not going to hurt you, Ginny. I just want some answers."

"Spying for your precious Dark Lord, are you? Usually you lot just resort to torture." She tapped her chin, pretending to think. "Oh, that's right, you've already tortured me. Too bad I don't know anything."

"I want to talk about _you_, not Potter," he said, which wasn't exactly the truth – he _did_ want to know to what extent Potter had been involved in things, "and I didn't mean to torture you."

"What, it just happened?" she sneered.

"Look, you know as well as I do that if I didn't do it, she would've, and it would've been worse. And if I wasn't signed up for this, someone else would've been in my place, so what's the difference?"

"That's pathetic."

He couldn't disagree with that. "That's our lives. But I didn't want to hurt you."

She raised her chin in defiance, but the gesture made her look brittle, liable to shatter. Pansy used to give him the same look seconds before she burst into angry tears. "You can't cast the Cruciatus unless you mean to hurt."

With some amazement, Draco realised that Ginny looked so angry over this last statement because her feelings were hurt. She'd abandoned him and looked for all the world to hate him these days, but in the end she wasn't upset that he'd used the Cruciatus on her, but that he was _able_ to. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder before she could react. "Ginny."

She tried unsuccessfully to yank herself from his grasp. "Don't touch me."

"What happened to you?" he whispered. Being so close to her was exhilarating. Draco had to stop himself from trying to draw her closer.

She jerked under his hand again, a small whine of frustration escaping her. "You happened to me."

The words stung even though he'd been expecting something along those lines. "Care to elaborate?"

"Not really."

"Maybe tonight?"

She sagged in his grip. "Where?"

"The usual place," he said, releasing her. "You'll come, then?"

"I don't have much choice, do I?"

He unlocked the drawer of the teacher's desk with his wand and opened it. Ginny's wand was inside. "I'll be waiting for you."


	8. Back to the Land

**Chapter Eight: Back to the Land**

Draco returned to the Slytherin common room after Ginny's detention to find Pansy gloating over how Longbottom wasn't going to be able to sit properly for a week after her hexes. "Oh, Draco, you're back!" she cried when she noticed him. "Who did you get?"

"Ginny Weasley." Pansy's audience turned their attentions to him, some murmuring appreciatively, but Pansy remained silent, her grin drooping a bit. "Her incessant screaming gave me a headache." A couple of fourth-years whooped and he clenched his teeth. The room was starting to spin. "I've got to lay down."

"I've got some headache potion in my room," Pansy said quickly. "I'll get it for you."

"Don't bother." He made his way to his room and unbuttoned his collar with shaking fingers. He'd come dangerously close to a breakdown in front of his housemates. He couldn't afford that, not with Snape watching and reporting to the Dark Lord and the Dark Lord at Malfoy Manor. He reached inside himself, trying to piece himself back together, but all he saw in his mind was Ginny twitching on the ground.

"Headache potion," Pansy announced behind him, tossing an empty phial on the bed. He turned to glare at her and she stared back solemnly. "Do you want to talk?"

"Talk?" he echoed with a snort. "No."

"Let me know if you change your mind."

* * *

The conservatory was gutted. Scorch marks covered the walls and parts of the floor were uneven where the Fiendfyre had burned it away. The furniture was gone, burned or removed. Draco leaned on the windowsill, gazing out onto the Hogwarts grounds, vibrating with tension. He was exhausted. He'd spent the evening on his bed trying to ground himself. When Pansy had appeared with a plate of leftovers he'd finally accepted that he wasn't going to be able to return to his safe, emotionless existence until he got some answers out of Ginny. And come hell or high water, he'd get what he'd come for. She'd caught him unawares earlier, but he was ready for her now. He had to be prepared to be hard with her until she realised he wasn't the enemy.

The door to the conservatory creaked open and a translucent outline shimmered its way inside. "_Protego_!" Draco muttered immediately.

"It's me." Ginny revealed herself to him from flaming head to nimble foot as she cancelled her Disillusionment Charm. She was balanced on the balls of her feet, head up, alert, though her wand was pointed at the ground. So he wasn't the only one thrumming with tension tonight.

"I know," he said, bringing down his shield. "Can't be too careful."

"You thought I would attack you?"

"It was a possibility. You're not my biggest fan lately. Maybe you'd like to tell me why."

She looked him over with a distasteful expression on her face. "Aren't you satisfied yet? Your wildest dreams have come to pass. You have everything you ever wanted, everything's going your way, we're all living as your subjects, and you _still_ have to bother everyone around you?"

Her vitriol wasn't unexpected, but a wave of fatigue rolled over him as he realised she was of no use to him in her current frame of mind. There was nothing to do but ride out her anger. Or was it jealousy? "Everything going my way?" he echoed with a hollow chuckle. "You must be joking. Did you know that the Dark Lord is living in my house right now? With my parents?"

"What an honour," she cooed disdainfully.

"Oh yes, it's such an _honour_ to know that if I slip up in any way, the nearest targets for his anger are my parents. It's so lovely wasting my spare time torturing other students so that Snape's reports on me are favourable. He really is at my house," he said, wondering if her reaction to his news was so blasé because she thought he was bluffing. "You can take that information straight to Potter with my blessing. See if I care. He'd be doing me a favour."

She looked puzzled. "Harry already knows."

"Confused?" he taunted her.

"No, I...just thought you would've been happier, all things considered."

There. He'd shared a vulnerability and disarmed her. Bloody Gryffindors. Not that he was gaming her entirely; everything he'd said was true. "Well, I could've set you straight months ago if you hadn't stopped talking to me," he pointed out, affecting a bit of a pout. "So let's-"

Before he could finish his sentence, a creak emanated from the hallway. They both whirled, Draco springing between Ginny and the door and cursing himself for putting her in danger. When the door didn't immediately fly open, an idea struck him and he turned his wand on her, silently begging her to understand that it was better for them both if he was discovered capturing her. The message didn't get through. She stared at him in wide-eyed outrage as they waited. And waited.

Draco exhaled noisily. "Just the building."

"Shut it!" Ginny hissed, still white with fear.

"I'll make sure." He was right; he couldn't detect anyone in the hallway. When he returned she was hugging her elbows. "It's clear."

"This is madness," she muttered. "I shouldn't be here."

Draco stifled a yawn. "Well, you can go as soon as you answer my question. Why did you turn on me?"

Her nostrils flared. "You really don't know?"

"Enlighten me."

"Think about it," she said, as if he'd never tried that. "All that help I gave you last year, it was to... How could you?" she burst out. "I thought theft, maybe kidnapping at the worst, but _murder_? You should've told me!"

"Oh, that would've been a good idea," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I don't see how you can be mad about that, considering I didn't kill him."

"Don't you get it? If it weren't for you, Dumbledore would be alive right now."

"It wasn't my fault. I was doing what I had to. You said it yourself."

"I didn't-" She hung her head. "I know," she whispered. "I helped you. That puts his death on my hands."

Draco let out a low whistle. "You're taking a lot of undeserved credit here, I think. Snape helped us out a bit, too."

"Are you trying to be funny?" she hissed.

He shrugged.

"His death is on my hands," she repeated, bracing herself against the windowsill. "I have to live with the fact that I helped kill him. It's...if anyone knew...it's hard," she admitted. "I haven't talked about it. I...talking about it now is making me sort of..."

Was it his imagination, or were her arms shaking? He berated himself for feeling sympathy for her so readily. "It's liberating?" he supplied.

"In the way a confessional is, I suppose." She shot him a tiny smile, just a quirk of the lips. "It's terrifying, though. Knowing that if any of my friends ever found out... That's the worst part, really. I feel like a traitor in their midst. Like Harry's gone because of me, like I'm the one who brought the Carrows here, like being here is my personal punishment. Some days I can hardly bear it, just keeping it in. Is this how you felt last year?" she asked abruptly, turning to him.

"I suppose."

"No wonder you wanted to meet me all the time. How do you bear it? Knowing that you had a hand in Dumbledore's death?"

"I remind myself that he was a dead man regardless of what I did." Ginny gasped in outrage. "It's true. Snape was bound by an Unbreakable Vow to kill Dumbledore if I failed. Mum told me."

"That didn't mean Dumbledore was going to die! It could've been Snape instead!"

"Perhaps."

She gave him a sharp look. "And that alternative didn't bother you either?"

"I didn't know about it. Although I suppose I should've guessed. Point is, you have less to do with his death than you think. You're practically blameless."

Her smile was a terrible thing. "I'll never forgive myself. Can I go now?"

"Fine. I'll see you here tomorrow, then."

She gaped at him. "Are you barking? What for?"

"Two reasons, really. So you can keep talking through this unfounded guilt you have, for one. I'd wager I'm the only person in the world who would understand. Also, you're going to tell me the real reason you abandoned me." Oh yes, he'd struck a nerve there. Her back went rigid. "This was a very interesting story – and I don't doubt that it's true," he added as she swelled up to no doubt protest hotly, "but unless you're a better Legilimens than the Dark Lord himself, you lost it on me _before_ you knew I was trying to kill Dumbledore."

She looked stricken. "I can't," she whispered.

"You will," he said, making no effort to stifle his yawn. He was dead on his feet.

"It's too dangerous."

"No excuses, pet."

She really was worked up, Draco mused; she let the endearment slide. "Tell me you didn't leap out of your skin when you thought there was someone outside," she demanded.

He sighed. "You want somewhere more secure? Fine. I know a place." He couldn't believe he was doing this. He blamed fatigue. "But so help me, Ginny, I'll be getting the truth from you. Remember what you told me last year? I'm still not your enemy, and something tells me that you're hiding another one of those things that no one would understand except me." Her eyes went round as saucers. "Oh, come off it. It's not hard to guess. I'm directly involved, after all."

She muttered something under her breath. It sounded like, "Hissen you think."

"Listen carefully. Past the prefects' bath on the way to the Hufflepuff common room there's a corridor guarded by that suit of goblin armour? Take it and go to the second gargoyle on the right, the one with a piece of wing chipped off. The password is 'equinox'. Got that?" She nodded morosely. "This isn't a place for you to hide on your own, mind. Snape knows about it, so others probably do too. But it'll be more secure than this." She looked like she could vomit at any second. "Chin up, Ginny. I'm not going to hurt you. Should I bring some of your calming draughts?" he joked, but she just stared at the floor. Draco realised that he preferred the hissing, ferocious Ginny over the one in front of him now. Her silence was unnerving. What had he done to her now? Had he pushed her to the verge of another breakdown? He really didn't fancy being punched in the face again, but he couldn't sit by and let her stand there looking miserable. "Alright there?" he asked softly, clapping her awkwardly on the shoulder.

The contact seemed to break her out of her spell and she clapped her hand over his. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her expression so earnest that tenderness welled up in him. "For everything. I had no right."

He squeezed her shoulder. "It's okay," he said because he felt, deep down, that it would be.

She shook her head no.

"You're more pessimistic than I am? That's a first." No response. "We don't have to go yet if you'd like to talk more now," he promised. "I'll stay as long as you need."

She shook her head again, a faraway look in her eyes. "No. I need..." She sighed. "Let me order my thoughts for a day. There's lots to say," she explained, her voice beginning to waver.

"I'll listen. You know I will." Draco ached to wrap his arms around her, but instead he pointed her towards the door. "Go get some rest, and I'll see you tomorrow night. Stay safe."


	9. Clippings

**Chapter Nine: Clippings**

He couldn't stop watching her now. Her flaming red hair drew his gaze like a beacon. She nibbled on her toast at breakfast, looking thoroughly knackered. She chatted animatedly with Longbottom at lunch, giving him smiles that set Draco's teeth on edge. He was going mad. Service to the Dark Lord, his father's term in prison, duelling Dumbledore, and _she_ was going to be the thing that pushed him over the edge. He tried to box her up and put her back in that dusty corner of his mind like he did everything else in his life he couldn't deal with, but this time she wouldn't go and he needed a swift kick to the shins by Pansy to draw him back to the conversation at the Slytherin table. Less than a minute later, he was off in his own world again. It wasn't just anticipation that was setting him on edge, although he was anxious for answers now that it was possible to get them. Ginny thought whatever she had to tell him was worse than claiming responsibility for Dumbledore's death. He wasn't sure what that could be – the worst thing he could think of was that she'd done everything she had at Potter's behest, and he'd dismissed that possibility months ago as supremely unlikely – but her dread was contagious.

He was so distracted by the end of the day that he should have earned at least one detention, but Sprout and Flitwick were doing everything in their power to make sure students weren't sent off so he was free to go make that Creevy beggar wish he'd never been born on Alecto's behalf. After that, he headed back to his room to compose himself before supper – his hands were trembling and he couldn't have that.

Pansy accosted him before he could even make it to the common room, popping out of a corridor and dragging him into it. "We need to talk," she growled, her eyes flashing with anger.

"No." He plucked her hands from the front his robes and spun on his heel, but she was too fast for him and cut off his exit.

"You need to pull yourself together," she said, and the urgency in her voice gave him pause. "You haven't been yourself since yesterday and people are going to start noticing. It's because of her, isn't it?"

"I don't have time for your petty jealousy," he snapped and made to push past her.

She shoved him back. "I'm trying to _help_ you, you git! Listen for a minute. I swear I'm almost done." She waved her wand as he tried to sidestep her and he found that his feet were stuck to the floor.

"Very mature," he muttered and reached for his wand.

"Don't you dare let her drag you down again," Pansy warned as his fingers brushed against wood. "Whatever happened between you two, she's not worth it." He swished his wand. "Something's eating you up." He took a step. "Talk to me if you need to get it out, but you've got to focus, and leave her be." She didn't try to stop him when he brushed by her.

* * *

Draco sat in the wingback armchair, his feet propped on the coffee table. After waiting for fifteen minutes, he plucked a Muggle novel from the bookshelf and started to read a treatise on why children should learn nothing but facts. It was rubbish, but he forced himself through a chapter before he checked the clock again. He stumbled through another chapter. Another.

He wanted to break something, to spring up from the chair and dash the figurines on the mantel to the ground. Fury pulled him taut, and he couldn't move from his seat for fear of snapping entirely. She wasn't coming. She really wasn't coming. To stop himself from screaming out loud, he started plotting the best way to bring her to the attention of the Carrows. Despite everything, the thought of doing so made him nauseated. Still, he was a man of his word and what else could he do if she showed this sort of flagrant disregard for him? If he went to Alecto and claimed a personal vendetta, he could probably arrange to run Ginny's detention himself. He'd like to see her try to avoid him _then_. If she'd thought his last _Crucio_ had hurt-

He drew his thoughts up abruptly, though he still quivered with a desire to destroy. After a quick check to make sure it was empty, he dashed his teacup against the brick of the fireplace. _Don't let her drag you down_, Pansy had said. Well, he wouldn't. He quaffed one of the calming draughts he'd brought for Ginny, then used the loo. She could still come, he reasoned, so he doffed his robes in the bedchamber – it was nothing she hadn't seen before – and climbed into the large bed instead of heading back to the Slytherin dorms.

_She could still come._ It was a ridiculous notion. She'd never been more than five or ten minutes late. She'd been dead on time last night...and so angry. He'd talked her down, though, he reminded himself, and for the first time since he'd entered the quarters he felt his muscles relax. She could run from him for now, but he knew her secret heart, just like she knew his. Images came to him unbidden, and he was too drowsy to push them away. Ginny's bare shoulder. The hollow of Ginny's throat. _Don't you want me_? Ginny's wide eyes. The feel of her hip under his fingers. Draco groaned and shifted position under the covers. Maybe Alecto would let him paddle Ginny's bare bum if he played his cards right. Maybe Ginny would show up now and find him here and then he wouldn't have to punish her. He didn't want to punish her...

* * *

She wasn't at breakfast. Draco's dormmates eyed him suspiciously when he took his seat, but quickly turned their attentions to their meals under his baleful glare. He didn't have to explain his absence to them. They would assume that he'd been with the Dark Lord all night. He ate with a single-minded determination, wolfing down his food so that no one would try to engage him in conversation while he thought. Where in hell was she? Was she having a bit of a Saturday morning lie-in after a luxurious evening of standing him up? Was she afraid to face him? Was she ill?

A small owl dropped onto the table in front of him, upsetting his pumpkin juice. Draco bit back a curse and took the scrap of parchment the bird held out to him.

_I'm sorry. Sunday instead?_

Rage surged through Draco and he crumpled the parchment in his fist. Did she think she could simply reschedule, like a Healer's appointment? He scanned the Gryffindor table again for a trace of red hair and found none. Merlin's beard, she was going to pay for this.

"Draco?" Pansy asked hesitantly, her eyes darting to the parchment. "What is it?"

He slammed down his fork, drew his wand, and set the parchment on fire. "Kindling," he snapped, letting it fall onto his plate. He looked to the teachers' table. Both Carrows were eating. Snape was looking at him. "Damnation," he muttered and shoved himself away from the table. He'd drawn too much attention. He was going to have to lay low for a few hours. He left the Great Hall with as much dignity as he could muster, then stormed down the hallway. As he was rounding his third corner he nearly collided with Ginny. They both gasped and she made to whirl away from him, but he was faster and corralled her into an alcove, pressing her into the wall and trapping her there. "Think you're something else, don't you?" he sneered.

"What are you doing?" she gasped. "We'll be seen!"

"Where've you been?"

"Look, sorry about last night-"

"I'll bet you are."

"I'll meet you on Sunday, okay?"

"Tonight," he countered, leering down at her and feeling wholly unsatisfied when she shrank away, "or it's your funeral."

"I can't. Detention."

"After detention." Adding a detention from him to her plate would hardly make her sorry, considering how she was piling them on without his help.

"It'll go all night. It's true," she insisted when he curled his lip. "I'll be in the Forbidden Forest all night."

He vacillated for a moment between fury and curiosity. Curiosity won out. "What did you do?"

"What have we here?" a silky voice interrupted before she could answer.

Draco grabbed a fistful of Ginny's collar and whirled to meet Snape. "Oh, good morning, Professor," he said with sinister good cheer, pulling up on Ginny's robes until she choked. "I was just having a little chat with Weasley, here. Wanted to see what she's been up to lately." It was best to keep things simple. He gave her collar an extra tug for good measure.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape intoned, his black eyes glittering, "do you find this to be an appropriate use of your free time?"

The professor's acerbic tone caught Draco off-guard. "I was simply accounting for-"

Snape cut him off. "You have been chosen by the Dark Lord for higher purposes. Unless you are intercepting an imminent insurrection led by Miss Weasley, your attentions are unwarranted."

"But surely, gained information is never-"

"Do you find me incapable of running this institution?" Snape hissed, swooping dangerously close to Draco and Ginny.

Draco looked at the floor. "No, Professor."

"Then accept my personal assurances that Miss Weasley's recent escapades are fully known to me and she has been dealt with accordingly. Turn your attention to the future, Mr. Malfoy." Snape glared pointedly at Draco's hand on Ginny's robes. "You are dismissed."

Draco relinquished his hold and fixed Ginny with a meaningful look. "You might be free of me today, Weasley," he jeered, "but you won't be so lucky tomorrow. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," she replied with a twisted little smile that told him she knew exactly what he was telling her, and then she set off towards the Great Hall.

* * *

"Inquisitorial Squad meeting this afternoon," Pansy told him when she came back from breakfast. "We're going over new surveillance patterns. Some students broke into Snape's office last night."


	10. Automatic Flowers

**Chapter Ten: Automatic Flowers**

Draco laid the Muggle novel aside when Ginny entered the quarters. "You broke into Snape's office Friday night," he said without preamble. The knowledge had been eating at him since he'd learned it.

She hesitated beside the closed door. "Yes," she said simply and sat down on the small chesterfield, as far from his armchair as possible. Her hair was pulled back into a severe plait and she moved heavily, deliberately.

How could she make him so furious so quickly? "Do you have a death wish?" he whispered harshly. "Did you really, truly go insane that night in the conservatory? What were you_ thinking_? You should've just come to me like you were supposed to and left that idiot Longbottom to his own devices. Did you really-"

"Stop." Ginny held up her hands, looking weary. "This isn't what we're here to talk about."

"But we're bloody well going to talk about it," he snapped.

"Later. I've got to say what I came to say before I lose my nerve or the calming draught wears off."

And just like that, his anger was gone and the dread was back. "Of course," he murmured. "Go ahead. But don't think I've forgotten about this."

She nodded and curled into herself on the chesterfield, hugging her knees to her chest. "Right." She looked so small, so solemn. Draco was glad that they weren't in the scarred conservatory for this; hopefully the cozy surroundings would help her distance herself from her story. "I...when I was...oh bugger, I'm sorry..."

"I'll get you some tea," he volunteered, taking up his empty cup and springing from his seat to the buffet, where a teapot sat under a charmed cozy. "Take your time. We're safe here."

"Where are we?" she asked, taking in the sitting area, the bookcase, the fireplace, and the bedchamber beyond the doorway.

"We are in Professor Burbage's old quarters. They should've gone to Alecto, but she prefers to...share...with Amycus," Draco informed her delicately. Ginny shuddered. "She never even learned the password." Draco placed their cups in front of her and settled next to her. "Sorry for interrupting."

"It's okay." She sighed and rested her chin on her knees. "Draco, do you remember the first time we met?"

"I...no," he said, unsure of where she was going with this. "Did we ever really meet? Formally, I mean? We just kind of...knew about each other for years, didn't we?"

"We met at Flourish and Blotts. It was right before I started at Hogwarts. You called me Harry's girlfriend to get a rise out of him."

"Oh." He didn't remember. "Wait, was that when our fathers got thrown out of the store for brawling? You were there?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, I don't remember you."

"It doesn't matter." She uncurled enough to reach out and give her teacup a tentative feel, but let it be. "I got my books for my first year that day, and a diary. I hadn't asked for it, but it was lovely – leather-bound, thick paper, even if the year was wrong. The thing was fifty years old. My parents didn't say anything about it – it was actually tucked into one of my texts when I found it – so I figured Mum had bought it for my on the sly and didn't want Dad to know. Money was tighter than ever that year, and we really couldn't afford such frivolous expenses. Then I saw a name written on the first page and I decided the first owner of the textbook had forgotten it there – secondhand books, of course, and it made more sense because the diary was so old," she said when she noticed Draco's perplexed expression. He was actually still stuck on the concept that a simple book could be considered an unaffordable luxury.

The words seemed to tumble out of her now, and if she'd expected her story to clear up Draco's confusion, she was dead wrong. So what if she was lonely in her first year? If her only friend had been a book that was either a cheap trick or the least sinister Dark artifact ever? Why was she bringing up Potter again? Bollocks! Potter _was_ behind all of this, wasn't he? Her story didn't make any sort of sense, and he really didn't care about her dreams about some smooth-talking ponce who was probably an old codger by now. "So what?" he interrupted when she spoke of her most inopportune memory lapses. "So you thought you were the Heir of Slytherin. We all know it was actually the Dark Lord. What's your point?"

She'd been speaking to the coffee table, but now she turned to him with a blazing look on her face. "Don't you get it? The Dark Lord didn't have a body. He couldn't open the Chamber. I did it for him."

"_What_ are you talking about? You were taken there. He was going to kill you!" How could Draco forget? He'd been mystified that the Heir of Slytherin had suddenly turned his wrath towards purebloods.

"I killed the roosters. I commanded the basilisk. But I didn't know it was me."

"But the diary figured it out for you?"

"No. The diary made me do it."

"I don't understand. Are you saying the diary somehow allowed the Dark Lord to put an Imperius on you?"

"No." She gripped her teacup so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "I'm saying that the diary _was_ the Dark Lord. Tom Riddle. It's _him_. He used me, made me terrorize the other students, and then he made me open the Chamber so that he could use my soul to come back to life. I remember opening the Chamber, speaking Parseltongue. I was crying because I was going to die, but I was also crying because we couldn't be together anymore. I loved him," she whispered, sniffling. "Even after everything that he'd done, I still loved him. He was still my best friend. And afterwards, even knowing who he was, I still missed him so much."

Draco shifted uncomfortably. It was clear that she believed every word of her story, but he wasn't convinced. It was too preposterous and it had nothing to do with Draco or last year's events. "He's never mentioned you. Not that I've ever heard, at least."

"You-Know-Who, you mean?" Ginny waved his statement away. "He wouldn't. It's complicated, but the diary was a younger version of him. He can't remember the things the diary did and the diary didn't know what he had become. The _point_ is, when the diary was destroyed it took a part of me with him. Sometimes I'd dream about him, but it wasn't the same. And there was no one I could talk to. How could I tell my family that I missed the man who nearly killed me? How could Hermione and Harry possibly understand, after they'd come up against the basilisk because of us? Everyone just wanted me to be better, the way I was before. So I got better for them. But I couldn't forget." She drank deeply from her teacup. "Well?" she demanded. "Don't you have anything to say? Maybe you want to congratulate me for being an honourary Death Eater?"

Draco pulled up the sleeve of his robe. "Even honourary Death Eaters get one of these, Ginny," he said, flashing his forearm at her. She stared at it, transfixed. "You didn't know who he really was. It wasn't your fault. And is it really such a foreign notion to Gryffindors that you can still care for someone who betrayed you?"

She threw a wary glance in his direction. "You would forgive someone who betrayed you that deeply?"

The question was loaded. Draco would've chuckled at her lack of subtlety if the situation had been less grave. "If they still cared for me?"he asked softly, hardly trusting himself to breathe. "Yes. I'd have no one left if I didn't." He didn't bother asking himself whether his words were true or not. All that mattered was her reaction.

She stared up at him with a strange, intense look on her face. Everything about her smacked of vulnerability and all of Draco's years of training in Slytherin and at his father's knee urged him to _take, take_. His fingers twitched restlessly and her gaze dropped back to his arm. "May I?" she asked, motioning towards the exposed Mark.

"Be my guest," he murmured, relieved to see the moment pass. He stretched his right arm out behind her on the back of the chesterfield and brought his left across his body for her. _She's distracting you_, a voice inside his head warned as her small fingers encircled his wrist, but he stubbornly refused to care. Every nerve ending went on alert as her thumb swept along the dark lines, and he nearly threw back his head in pleasure at the contact. She hadn't touched him voluntarily since that night, and her delicate tracing dredged up all manner of memories.

"Does it hurt?" Her low voice caused heat to pool at the base of his spine.

"Not anymore," he answered truthfully, and he was embarrassed at how hoarse he sounded. "It was bad for the first year, but now it mostly itches." Nothing mattered but her hands. He sunk down in his seat, his thigh pressing against hers.

She ceased her exploration and set his arm in his lap, the motion slow and deliberate. "Sorry," she whispered and clasped her hands together.

"For what?" He wasn't accepting her apology unless it was for stopping.

"I'm supposed to be talking." She took a deep breath. "Your father gave me that diary."

Between his langour from her ministrations and the outlandishness of her story to date, Draco was incapable of working up any amount of surprise at this revelation. "Why?" Wouldn't he have wanted to keep it to retain a connection to the Dark Lord during his absence?

"We don't know. But he did, the day we met in the bookstore. He slipped it into my books without me noticing."

Draco stiffened. "Are you trying to tell me that all of this has been your elaborate revenge on him?" he exclaimed. "You went out of your way to hurt me to get back at him?"

Her eyes widened. "No, of course not! Why would – I would never do that. I mean, I hate your father, but I wouldn't." Draco raised a sceptical brow, and she heaved a sigh. "Just listen, okay?"

"I've been listening for a long time," he warned her. "I don't need your life story, here."

"Trust me," she muttered, "it's relevant. Remember how you were last year? Tired all the time, disappearing for hours at a time, preoccupied? Harry noticed it originally, not me – he'd been watching you so closely, sure you were up to something. We didn't think much of it until I realised that you were acting the same way I had in my first year, when I had Tom. I decided your father had another diary and he'd given it to you."

"You never asked me about a diary."

"No. I knew you'd never give it up. I tried to put a compulsion on you at one point, but it failed miserably. I've never been good at Charms."

Draco's heart sank. "So you set out to steal a non-existent diary from me," he supplied, his voice dull. "That's why you spent all that time with me last year." His vision swam and he bit his lip from saying anything more, but his mind raced forward regardless. _She was pretending all along. I could've been anyone._ It hurt to draw breath.

She grimaced at him, her eyes suspiciously bright. "It's worse than that. I knew I'd never get the diary from you, so I tried to take Tom from you directly."


	11. The Poison Tree

A/N: This chapter did _not _come easy. I can't count how many times I tore up my work and re-wrote. I hope the end result is worth it.

I'd also like to take this opportunity to let readers know that my titles are often pilfered from other sources (the more clever the title is, the more likely it is that it's not original). "Automatic Flowers", the previous chapter's title, is actually a song by Our Lady Peace. This chapter's title references William Blake's "A Poison Tree."

**Chapter Eleven: The Poison Tree**

Draco curled his shoulders inward, trying to relieve the pressure building in his chest. "Did you mean anything you said last year?"

"About what?" Ginny asked, looking confused.

He remembered all the times he'd been grateful for her support, thankful for her presence. She'd dispelled some of his fears and he'd taken comfort from her body. His teacup trembled as he took a swig to drown out the metallic taste taking up residence in his mouth. "Did you and Potter at least have a good laugh at my expense?" he spat. "Sorry I couldn't help the two of you play hero. Though I suppose the two of you had _other_ games to play down by the lake."

She at least had the decency to blush, Draco noted. "Harry didn't know anything – _doesn't_ know anything – that happened between us."

"Here I thought he threw you over when he discovered what a slag you are," he sneered.

Her face continued to redden, and Draco couldn't be sure whether it was embarrassment or rage driving it. "Would you just listen?"

"You know, I think I'm done listening to you," he said with affected lightness, hopping up from his seat and striding to the fireplace. The mantel was cold under his hands, the stone flecked with minute crystals. "You can go now." He heard her stand and a crushing weight pressed down on his chest.

"You have to know," she said.

"I can fill in the blanks myself, thanks. You tried to steal something that didn't exist and Potter rewarded you when you failed." The stone was covered in tiny brown-glazed figurines no larger than his thumb, and he focused relentlessly on them so he wouldn't turn back to her.

"No. I'm sorry this is hurting you, but-"

There was a boy with a bucket, and a rooster, and a girl wearing a bonnet. "You think _you_ could hurt _me_? That's a laugh, Weasley. Don't forget who's in charge here."

"I didn't want Harry to know. I wanted Tom for myself, and if the others knew they'd want him destroyed." He peered at a sheep, a fox, a boot with a window in the upper and a door by the heel. "I told myself I wasn't eleven years old anymore. I was stronger, I could handle him, things would turn out differently, all that rot. I know you don't want to hear about him anymore." She was silent for a moment. "Point is, I wanted him back so badly that I went to the Restricted Section and found a book that dealt with the management of souls." The figurines didn't seem to do anything, but that boot was something too odd for Muggles to think up, surely. "The diary...bonds with your soul, in a way, creates a connection. I was going to call on that connection and transfer Tom's bond from you to me. I needed your participation, but you couldn't be compelled, so I went after you the old fashioned way."

"Should've gone with a well-placed Imperius if you were going to do Dark magic anyway," Draco muttered, taking up a girl with a bowl upturned on her foot and inspecting her. There was a spider etched on her full skirt.

"At least then I wouldn't have had to spend hours on end listening to you complain," she shot back. "Though it was easier than I expected to win your trust, Draco."

His hand curled into a fist around the girl. "You played the worshipful tart so well," he simpered. "Wherever _did_ you get the practice for that?"

"Well, I guess I'm just lucky you'd been with Parkinson for so long that you knew _exactly_ what to do with worshipful tarts. Even if you're not very good at it."

The figurine dug into Draco's palm. "I wouldn't know it from the way you knocked me down and rode me like a Firebolt."

That shut her up, but not for long. "I'd prepared myself as a conduit long before," she said quietly. "I waited until I got some sign from you that you'd accept me." Draco cringed at her dispassionate language, but his back was still turned to her. "You took forever, and you kept trying to pull away. It was so humiliating," she sighed, more to herself, judging from her tone of voice, "throwing myself at you like that, and then when you finally gave in, the pain was so...I just wanted it to be over."

Draco felt his cheeks burn with shame. _Way to make a bloke feel special, Weasley._ He didn't dare voice that particular remark, but he laid the figurine on the mantel and sneaked a glance at her over his shoulder, wanting to know if she was still taking the piss or if she really thought shagging him had been that terrible. Remorse sunk in immediately; her arms were wrapped around her ribcage and she looked distinctly haunted, her eyes large and dark in her pale face. She had a lot of gall to look that way, considering she was the cause of the whole situation and he was the victim, but his annoyance was slithering away no matter how desperately he grasped at it.

"I invoked the spell when you started...well... I _felt_ it take hold and I just – I was so relieved, even though I knew it was pretty much a sure thing since I hadn't...but you know that, I guess."

"Know what?"

She jumped at his voice, then flushed. "That I was a...that I'd never done that before."

Draco blinked in surprise and crept over to the chesterfield. "It was your first time too?"

Her blush deepened. "Despite what you think of me."

"How did you know your spell failed? I saw the sparks, I felt the magic."

She averted your eyes. "You weren't dead."

The strength went out of his legs and he sank onto the chesterfield, feeling lightheaded. "You tried to kill me twice in one day for no good reason? And you still had the nerve to lecture me about Dumbledore?"

"Draco, I am _so sorry_ about the Fiendfyre. I didn't even know I knew how to conjure it. I was so devastated, so furious when the spell didn't work, so terrified that you were going to snitch on me..."

"_Snitch_ on you?" he echoed in disbelief.

"Look, in Plan A you were dead," Ginny snapped. "Or possibly Tom's soul displaced yours. The text wasn't completely clear."

"Sweet weeping Merlin!"

"I was a mess for months afterwards, which is more than I can say for you after _your _attempted murder!"

"Yeah, I could tell," he agreed, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "what with all the Quidditch playing and Potter snogging."

"I was trying to be normal! I thought that if I could finally be with Harry, I could put this all behind me. It's not like I don't _know_ it's barking to put my family and friends in danger and literally _kill_ for someone who betrayed me and nearly killed me, but I did it anyway! What does that say about me? I helped Death Eaters and killed Dumbledore and tried to kill you because I'm in love with the _Dark Lord_?" She choked on a laugh, and it was the laugh of Aunt Bella. Draco's eyes widened in alarm. "I hate being this way," she whispered. "I'm a monster."

She'd lied to him for months, tried to kill him (twice, really), and scorned him ever since. According to her, he was a murderer, a fool, and a terrible shag. And her distress was still more than he could bear. Everything he'd heard was so far removed from what he currently saw – a girl shamed and tormented by what she had done. _We do what we must. _But he wasn't the villain in her story. She'd painted him as an accoutrement, a neutral object to be wielded, but even that wasn't true. Perhaps it had been at first, but there were too many small indications that things had changed along the way. At least, he was relatively sure it wasn't wishful thinking on his part. He slid across the chesterfield to her as if she'd Summoned him. "Ginny," he sighed, brushing an errant wisp of hair from her brow. She turned her eyes on him, her lips parted, and Draco's blood sang in his ears as his finger trailed down to her jaw. _Take, take_. "If you're a monster, so am I. But I don't think you are."

"How can you say that after what you know?"

"Honestly, I'm not trying to beat a dead horse here," he explained preemptively, "but just so we're perfectly clear: you planned to kill me to recover the soul of the young Dark Lord and live happily ever after with him, and when it didn't work you tried to kill me _anyway_ and drowned your sorrows in Potter." She jerked her head in a nod. "You also gave me hope when I had none, kept my secrets, and helped me save my mother's life. I'll be forever grateful to you for that, even though you didn't mean it. You were the best false friend I've ever had," he quipped, grasping her hand. "So I suppose everything cancels out."

"You can't possibly..." Her voice shook too badly for her to continue, but she clasped his fingers like a lifeline. "So sorry," she managed to choke out.

"Shh. I know." Something hot and wet fell on their mingled fingers, and Draco took a perverse pleasure in her sorrow, because it was for him. He let his arm slip from the back of the chesterfield to her shoulders and he felt her take a shuddering breath. "It's okay," he whispered against her temple, but this only made her cry harder so Draco contented himself with holding her. It was amazing how he could derive so much satisfaction from having her in his arms. The room was dim and quiet, and he lazily ran his gaze over the bookcase and the figurines before he let his eyelids droop, relishing her warmth and her sweet tears. _Mine. Not Potter's, not the Dark Lord's. Mine_. The young Dark Lord was long gone, and after this Draco doubted she'd ever seek him out again. She'd kept Draco's secrets to this day, and he'd keep hers, if for no other reason than that the information was useless. Even if anyone believed the tale (and he doubted anyone would; it was too outlandish and he had no evidence), Draco had nothing to gain from sharing it.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before she was quiet in his embrace, but at length she finally drew away from him a bit to look at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks flushed; her lower lip trembled invitingly. "Help me," she whispered, the very picture of brokenness, and Draco's heart leapt.

"Yes," he purred, dipping his face down to hers. "I'll make you forget him." Her lips were salty and he drank deeply from her, quenching a thirst that had been building for months. She reached up to cup his cheek as she returned the kiss without the desperation from his memories and his dreams, and the tenderness of the gesture brought a lump to his throat. He crushed her to him with renewed abandon. Oh yes, there it was, the curve of her hip that he missed so dearly! When he ran his hand slowly along it she gasped a bit, stealing his air. He broke away and let his hands skate up to her breasts. "Let me make it up to you," he murmured thickly against the hollow between her jaw and her throat, and she whined at the contact. "I'll make you feel so good, it won't be like last time-"

She gently caught his hands and guided them down to his lap. "That's not what I meant," she said, eyes dark and lips glistening. It was only the faint sting of rejection that kept Draco from closing in on her again. "You're a Death Eater. If we had your help..."

Disappointment cut a keen swath through him. Was this all he was to her? An ally to be used? It wouldn't be the first time she used her wiles on him for her own purposes. "I don't help people who don't help themselves," he growled. Ginny looked taken aback. Good. "You broke into Snape's office. What, exactly, were you hoping to accomplish?" He raked a hand through his hair. "I'll bet you're behind that shite all over the walls too. You want my help to what, incite the staff's wrath? Make all your punishments disappear? I've told you what it's like. I've got no power. I'm being watched, just like you are. The only difference is I don't step out of line."

"You really want him to win, then," she said dully. "You don't care what happens to the rest of us."

Betrayal shone in her eyes, and he sighed in exasperation. "That's not it at all. We're living in a nightmare, Ginny, don't think I don't know that. I stopped dreaming about the Dark Lord's glorious kingdom years ago." Last year, anyway. "It's for people like the Carrows, and Snape, and my aunt Bella."

"Your father," Ginny added, still looking doubtful.

"Not my father!" Draco snarled. "Don't you dare presume!" Ginny stared at him mutely and he took a calming breath. "Not that it matters what he wants, or what I want. It's too late to change anything."

"What do you mean?" Ginny looked nervous. He regretted snapping at her. There was no way for her to know his father's true inclinations, and given her recent revelations, it wasn't surprising that she thought the worst of him.

"I mean it's over. The Dark Lord is in control and Potter's run off."

"Harry's fighting!" Ginny cried. "If it was really over, the Dark Lord wouldn't be hiding in your house!"

"Is that what you think? You really think Potter's out there fighting instead of running? And I suppose you think your petty shenanigans are somehow helping in his fight?"

"Petty shenanigans?" she echoed, eyes flashing.

"Vandalism and whatever you were doing to Snape?"

"We weren't doing anything to him."

"Then what _were_ you doing in his office?"

She pursed her lips. "Well, I suppose there's no harm in telling you now. We were trying to steal something for Harry. We won't be trying again."

"You put yourself in needless danger for _him_? He left you! All of you! He's not coming back! Don't you see how useless all of your rebellion is?"

"It's not useless," she muttered stubbornly.

"What purpose can it possibly serve?"

"It gives people hope," she snapped.

"Hope?" Draco snorted. "Hope is nothing."

"Hope was everything to you last year," she challenged. "You said so yourself."

He slumped forward, elbows on his knees, and rested his chin on his hands. "I was a fool. We've established that."

He hadn't been able to keep the bitterness out of his voice, and she dared to look at him with pity. He couldn't stand it, not when _she _was the one in the wrong, but before he could come up with an ugly remark to wipe the pity off her face, she launched herself at his back and wrapped her arms around him. "Hope with us," she whispered against his cheek. "You can hope with us." He knew he should throw her off but the way she'd seized him around his ribs reignited whatever had been burning between them only a few minutes ago. He allowed her to slip one hand into his hair, allowed her to graze her lips against his temple. "Hope with me. It's the least I can give you after everything I've done."

Did she know how tempting she was, with her breasts pressed up against his back and the arm across him slowly dropping down to his hip? He couldn't stop himself from twisting around in her embrace and kissing her again. She even _tasted_ like hope, warm and soft. It would be so easy to take what she offered, to believe he could make a difference, to work towards absolution for everything he'd done to create this living hell. His heart soared at the possibility and he became frenzied, digging his fingers into her fire-red plait, grasping her plump arse, arching into her when her hand pressed into his lower back. Her tongue swept against his and he palmed that delightful curve of her hip, trying to memorise its feel. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. He pulled away abruptly. "I can't," he said raggedly, tracing the line of her throat one last time with a shaking hand. "There's no hope for me," he told Ginny Weasley, the only source of hope in his universe, even though it meant losing her all over again.

She was so beautiful. Tendrils of hair had escaped her plait – his doing – to curl softly around her face, and he'd never seen her eyes so large and dark. Pleading. "If it's because of me-"

"No! No, that's not it at all. It's my parents. I need to keep them safe."

She bit her lip and looked away. "I see."

This was worse than losing her last year. This time he knew exactly what he'd done, and he'd done it deliberately. There were no adequate words to say goodbye. "Try to stay safe," he said at last. "Don't do anything too reckless. I don't want you in front of my wand again."

She blinked in surprise and then nodded. "Okay." When he didn't say anything else, she stood.

"Wait!" he blurted and she froze, raising an eyebrow.

He jumped to his feet. "Your hair. It's, uh...let me fix it for you." He started to reach out and then hesitated. He hadn't plaited hair since he was a little boy, and his mother had likely been humouring him when she'd told him what a good job he'd done.

Ginny gave her hair an exploratory pat, frowned, drew her plait over her shoulder, and tugged off the ribbon at the end. "Fixed," she announced, shaking her fingers through her hair until it cascaded around her in waves of wildfire the colour of hope.

Great Merlin, she was breaking him. He could feel last year's familiar weight pressing down on his chest, urging him to her altar. Once again, he'd been judged and found wanting. "Don't leave me," he croaked. "Not again."

"You're shaking!" she exclaimed. "Sit! What's wrong?"

"It's not fair, making me choose," he mumbled.

"What?"

"Between you and my parents."

"I – what? I'm leaving because you just dismissed me, not because of your choice."

"I can't, I just can't-"

"Are you even listening to me?" She grabbed his face and forced him to look at her. "I understand why you can't stand with us right now, I really do. I don't think you're evil for wanting to protect your family. You said there's no hope for you, but there is. There's good in you, Draco Malfoy. I've seen it for myself, and one day you'll find that hope inside you and do what's right because you can't do anything else and your actions _will_ matter."

"Don't give up on me," he whispered.

"I won't. But you can't give up on yourself, either."


	12. Waiting For The Sun

A/N: I received a lot of help on this chapter. Thanks to SeraphimeRising for expertly pointing out exactly why I hated the first draft so much and offering advice for improvement, and to FirstYear for taking the second version and polishing it 'til it shined. This chapter was on the knife edge of violating this site's Terms of Service and thus has been slightly edited from its original version. The full version's at my homepage, accessible from my profile, if you wish to see it.

**Chapter Twelve: Waiting For The Sun**

Draco was sprawled on Burbage's bed reading his Transfiguration text. After scrawling out another Muggle Studies essay, it was refreshing to immerse himself in something scholarly.

"Isn't this a cozy picture?" Ginny remarked from the doorway. She was finally there. Draco snapped the book shut with a grin. "What in the world are you doing?"

"I've discovered the most amazing contraptions. They're called books and when you open them-"

"I meant this, you git." She walked over to the wireless, which was slowly tuning in and out of stations, mostly blaring static, and switched it off.

"Oh. I flipped it on for background noise. I didn't even notice it was broken." In truth, he'd overheard a snatch of conversation about an upcoming wireless broadcast put on by Potter's minions and he'd been trying to catch it.

Ginny's lips quirked up at the corners. "Might want to set it to an actual channel next time."

There was nothing for him to say to that so he tugged her down to the bed and drew her into a sweet kiss. He fingered the green ribbon in her hair. "I was starting to think I'd never see this again." It was their prearranged signal; the last time she'd worn it, weeks ago, he'd been forced to leave a note in the quarters saying he wouldn't make it (and that the Inquisitorial Squad would be concentrating on the east side of the castle, so she should head to her dorm as soon as possible).

"Things have been bad," she acknowledged, snuggling against him. "I could only make it tonight because we're laying low after Seamus. He's still in bad shape."

"I know," he said quietly. He'd been tapped as one of Finnegan's disciplinarians after the Gryffindor had been caught distributing _The Quibbler _in the Great Hall and mouthing off about some Auror – Shacklebolt, was it? – giving Snatchers the slip.

Draco could feel his heart and Ginny's beat in tandem, tapping out the argument they both knew was futile. _It won't end until you stop resisting_. They didn't talk much about that sort of thing; they each had little sympathy for the other's choices and there was no sense starting useless fights. There was nothing to hide and nothing to explain, and they didn't game each other for intelligence. Often it was enough to sit and snog, to forget the horrors pressing in on them and immerse themselves in simple pleasure. Unfortunately, tonight didn't seem to be one of those nights. She seemed content to simply lay with her head on his chest.

Then she began snoring softly. Draco jostled her a bit, expecting her to snap back into wakefulness, but she didn't even notice. No doubt she'd stayed up all night tending to that idiot Finnegan and was exhausted. He whispered a curse under his breath and groped with one hand for his Transfiguration text. He propped the book against his bent knee, laid his hand at the small of her back, and began to read.

He'd nearly finished the chapter when she started violently in his arms and gasped. "No," she choked and she grabbed handfuls of his robes, cowering against him.

He stroked her hair almost absently. "Shhh, it was just a dream." He knew the likely subject of her dream, and he knew that her nightmares had become worse since the end of last year. Around that time, his Mark had stopped hurting so much. Privately, he was almost certain that the two events were connected – she'd been angling for the Dark Lord's soul, after all – but he knew better than to mention anything concerning the ritual to her. Besides, there was nothing to be done about it now.

She raised her head to frown at him. "Why'd you let me fall asleep?" Already her tremours had ceased and her expression was flinty. He admired her resolve to banish Tom Riddle from her life. She no longer needed him now that she had Draco to confide in.

"I didn't. You laid down and passed out."

"You should've woken me up. Here we are, probably the last time we'll see each other before hols, and I can't keep my eyes open. I was up all night with Seamus."

"You can sleep if you want," he said, a bit disgruntled that Finnegan was getting all of her attention.

"But I want to stay awake," she insisted stubbornly. "I'll sleep when I'm home." Some of her tension melted away in a wistful sigh. "I can't wait, can you?"

"I can't wait for you to go home," he assured her.

She swatted him on the shoulder. "Hey! You want to get rid of me?"

"I want you safe," he said, smoothing her hair back from her face. "The only trouble you can get into at home is catching spattergroit from that brother of yours."

"I'll be careful," she promised. "Although if I_ did _get sick, I wouldn't have to come back...that would be brilliant. I could lick some parchment and owl it to you, and then _you_ could lick it and you could stay home too!"

"Let's hold off on that plan," he said dryly, hooking a leg between hers. She toppled gently onto him and he felt desire thrum through him as her hair brushed over his throat. "Home is the last place I want to be."

"It's still better than..." She stiffened in horror. "Sweet Merlin. Tell me you're not going home next week."

He pursed his lips, tracing a small circle on her lower back.

"_Draco_," she breathed, sitting up and placing her hands on his chest. "You can't go."

He was selfishly pleased at her distress. "I can't _not_ go."

"But what if..." She couldn't seem to bring herself to say the words, so he didn't bother to respond to what she didn't say. He wasn't playing at war like she was with her ragtag band. He would be returning to his master's headquarters, where the war was all too real. "It's so dangerous," she said at last. "Especially now, especially after I..." She swallowed. "Just...promise me you'll come back."

"Hmm." He ran his fingers up her arm, pretending to consider it. "What do I get if I do?"

"I'm serious," she said, sliding against him to bring her solemn face closer to his.

He thoroughly enjoyed her wriggling and arched against her.. "I like the way you bargain," he murmured.

"If You-Know-Who finds out how you feel-"

"_If_," he repeated significantly, putting a finger to her lips to silence her. "_If_ the Dark Lord ever turns his interest to me, I'm finished. My Occlumency is no match for him." He saw her eyes close and felt her fingers dig into his shoulder. He ran his hands up her thighs to distract himself from the sting. "But here's the thing: _I'm not important_. I haven't done anything of note, and if he wants to know anything about the school, he'll ask Snape and Snape knows everything I know. I'm going to spend hols following orders and staying out of the way."

Ginny rolled her head back and gazed at the ceiling, then looked back at him with an expression so hard and blazing that for an irrational second Draco was sure she was going to haul off and punch him again. Instead, she nodded curtly. "You don't have a choice."

He tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear. "I wish I did. Ginny, you know that I..." He sighed and cupped her cheek. "You know me," he said instead.

She turned her head and pressed her lips to his palm. "You _are_ important," she said quietly, but her features didn't soften one bit. Draco watched her with bated breath, unsure of how to comfort her – or if she even _wanted_ comfort. She looked so forbidding, nearly inhuman with her ashen pallor and the grim set of her mouth.

"But not to him," he said at last. "I've never been important to him."

"No," she allowed, looking even more severe as she leaned closer to him. She was turning into a statue before his eyes, and all he could do was hold his breath while his heart strained towards her. "You're important to me," she muttered and grazed her lips against his.

The kiss was light but electric, intensified by her restraint, but it was her words that sent a thrill through him. Despite all of their intimacy and commiseration, such personal candour was rare. It was too much, too dangerous, too high a cliff. Just moments ago he had stood at that edge, only to back down at the last moment; it made him all the more appreciative that she dared to leap.

After that show of Gryffindor courage she was strangely tentative, carefully capturing his bottom lip between hers, and he was suddenly overcome by the feeling that they were sinking, that she was turning to stone after that admission and he was following her down. He wouldn't allow it, not again. He was desperate to make her feel, to draw her back to flesh, to demand that she prove her words. He surged against her, tearing the ribbon from her hair and forcing her mouth to open under his so he could pour life into her. She took a hissing breath, then as their teeth clacked together she then began to respond to him, plunging her tongue into his mouth. Draco groaned in appreciation and hauled her closer.

She felt like bliss beneath his hands, warm and supple, and when she broke away for a moment to take a breath, he was pleased that life had indeed flooded back into her. Her cheeks were flushed with colour and her lips curled in a small smile as she regarded him. Relief stole over him when he saw that she'd come back to him whole.

_This could be it_, he realised, her maudlin talk finally infecting him. _This might be the last time_. He rolled her onto her back and stretched out on his side beside her. "I'll miss you."

"Don't talk like that," she begged him, and she pulled his mouth back to hers, swallowing his tongue to make sure he obeyed her. Her hands were everywhere, running over his shoulders, slipping around his ribs and down his back.

He trembled under her touch and moaned deep in his throat, overtaken by a familiar feeling of awe. How could she need this as much as he did? What alchemy had made him worthy of her, and how could she still taste of salvation after all of her confessions? Something extra was driving her tonight, and she was dragging everything she could from him, the insistent roll of her hips causing his entire body to tingle.

He thrust back against her, hoping for relief, and she gasped. Her robes had ridden up to her knees and he couldn't resist reaching down and running his hand over her exposed skin. An illicit thrill ran through him. He was drunk on the feel of her bare skin under his fingers, something he'd forbidden himself for so long. He still remembered how badly things had gone the _last_ time he'd been under her robes. Things were different now, though, weren't they?

She shivered as he skimmed her knee, and when he began to inch up over her warm, smooth thighs, she stilled and pulled back from him, her eyes clouded with trepidation. "Draco..." She bit her lip.

She obviously remembered how badly things had gone as well. He was never going to live down that particular shame; he _had_ to make things up to her. Never taking his eyes off hers, he reached up for the top button on his collar and solemnly fastened it, the action symbolic.

Ginny wrinkled her nose adorably in confusion. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice husky.

"Keeping you awake." He dipped her head back and nibbled on her bottom lip. "Let me do this for you," he murmured as he put his hand back on her exposed skin. "Please."

There was still a furrow between her brows that he kissed away with a sigh. "It's okay," he lied, breathing deeply to temper his desperate wanting and to weather this unexpected failure. "Next time, maybe," he added, trying to play it off nonchalantly.

Her eyes widened. "No!" she cried, startling Draco enough that he recoiled. "I mean, I..." She grimaced and proceeded to turn beet red, throwing him a desperate glance that unleashed an unexpected excitement in his chest.

"Whatever you want," he drawled, feigning heavy-lidded calm as he held her gaze intently. "Really."

If possible, she looked even more bashful. "Do you, uh, want these off, then?" she asked, plucking at her robes.

"Yes. Always," he breathed, nearly dizzy with anticipation. And then they _were_ off, and she was laid out before him in her undergarments and there was so much to do that he didn't know where to start. The wonder he was feeling must have showed on his face because all traces of self-consciousness left her and she gave him a salacious little smile, relaxing more deeply into the mattress.

He muttered an oath under his breath as he took in the sight of her, then settled for kissing her again with his hand splayed over the impossible softness of her stomach until she moaned. From there he embarked on a tour of all the places she hadn't given him time to visit before. He tasted the freckles on her shoulder, swirled his tongue over the tops of her breasts, and nipped at her navel, delighting in the small noises she made. At last, he let his hand stray between her thighs and laid his fingers against her knickers, feeling damp heat through the cotton.

"Please," Ginny moaned, writhing against his hand.

_This is the way things should have been_, Draco thought as he slowly eased her knickers down her thighs and legs, tossing them to the floor. She was flushed and glowing as she pulled him to her for another breath-stealing kiss that left him trembling with excitement, and then he began to stroke her.

_Remember this_, he ordered himself, noting the sheen of sweat on her skin, the clenching of her stomach, the way her harsh pants made her breasts heave. "So good," he mumbled roughly, his forehead pressed against her shoulder. He grazed the smooth flesh above her bra with his teeth and held her close as she writhed beneath him.

_Remember. Never like it was before, always like it is now. _Ginny let out a little gasp, soon begging him to stop even as she continued to arch up towards him.

"Beautiful," he whispered with a smile, immensely pleased with himself. Ginny stretched towards him, looking drowsy and thoroughly shagged. The sight of her infused him with a sort of energy, a feeling that everything was going to be fine after all.

She kissed him languorously, exploring his mouth with a lazy tongue. Her lips were swollen, her skin hot to the touch. One hand trailed down his chest and landed over his neglected erection, and his body went rigid as a completely different sort of energy shot through him.

"No, you don't have to-" He broke off in a hiss as she squeezed gently, sending white-hot pleasure up his spine.

"Can I?" she asked with a playful pout.

He knew he couldn't deny her anything, least of all this. All he could do was choke a bit and buck against her, needing more.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said dryly, still calm from her own release.

That placid tone of voice drove him even higher as he realised that he'd finally offered her something that was acceptable to her – pleasing, even. It was okay to take now. She was offering. _She_ was offering, not an apology but a gift. _Her_ fingers were flicking open buttons and he couldn't breathe but it didn't matter because of her hands gripping him through the thin fabric and her body on display for him. All that mattered was that he kept moving, and when he felt her hot, smooth fingers slip under his pants and encircle him properly, the instantaneous bliss of the contact caught him by surprise. His abdomen tightened irrevocably and he climaxed with a broken moan and a lock of her red hair clenched in his fist. He sagged back against the pillows, taking in great gulps of air, and the features of the room jumped into sharp relief.

Ginny was staring at him, her mouth slightly open. "Wow."

His brain put the oxygen he was gorging on to use and apprised him of what had just happened. _Hecate's tits_. He hadn't done _that_ since fourth year. Disgusted at himself, he threw his arm over his face with a groan.

"You're quite lovely when you let yourself come undone like that." He felt her fingers on his arm and he fought her as she tried to pry it off his head. She finally succeeded by digging her nails into his skin. "Draco Malfoy, are you _blushing_?"

"Oh, don't _even,_" he snapped, all too aware of the sticky mess in his pants. He would've thrown his arm back over his face if not for the show she was putting on, leaning forward in nothing but her bra. He should've taken that off too, he reflected.

She nuzzled his ear. "Next time I'm getting you naked," she whispered.

All traces of his sulky mood vanished instantly. There was going to be a next time. He promised himself that he'd survive Christmas hols just for that. "I can't wait," he said, reaching out to grab her glorious bare arse only to find the fire gone and her skin cool and clammy. "You cold?"

He made to pull back the covers for her but to his disappointment she scooted away and reached for her knickers, grimacing a bit as she drew them on. While she was occupied with her robes he snatched his wand from the nightstand and cast a quick nonverbal _Evanesco_ on himself, then went to work refastening his buttons.

"I've got to go," she said.

"I know." She was dressed and he stood to face her. Silence stretched between them and he still didn't trust himself to speak; he didn't even trust himself to think. She reached up and traced the line of his cheekbones, then ran the pad of her thumb over his lips. He nipped gently and she threw herself at him with a small cry, her arms wrapping around him until he couldn't breathe. He hugged her back just as tightly, as if doing so would stop the future from coming. He could feel everything: her heartbeat, her softness, her delicate bones, and her silky hair sliding against his chin.

"Come back." And with a brief, hard kiss, she was gone.


	13. Fruition

A/N: Dialogue from the second scene in this chapter was taken from _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. _I'm sure you'll recognise it.

**Chapter Thirteen: Fruition**

"Got another question for you, Draco," Vince said, looking very pleased with himself.

Draco rolled his eyes, wishing that he'd picked another compartment of the _Express_ to sit in. Scratch that – he wished that he wasn't going home for Easter at all. "The answer is that your _real_ father was a Security Troll – that's why your face looks the way it does."

Blaise tittered but Vince ignored him, which wasn't altogether surprising; Draco knew from experience that Vince only had room in his brain for one thought at a time. "If your mum and dad got divorced, would they still be brother and sister?" He chortled in delight.

Greg burst out laughing, and not even a glare from Draco could shut him up. Even Blaise was sniggering, the traitor. "It was a good one," he said helplessly when he noticed Draco was scowling at him too.

"But why stop there, Vince?" Draco asked. "Tell us about Blaise's mum next!" Vince flushed, just as Draco knew he would. "Oh, wait, you'd never joke about _her_ because you want to _fuck_ her, don't you? Don't you?" he wheedled. "Wouldn't you just _love _to bend her-"

"That's my _mum_ you're talking about!" Blaise snarled, all traces of good humour gone.

"And _Vince_ wants to fuck her," Draco pointed out, encouraged by Greg's snort of mirth, "so why are you looking at me?" Vince was completely still, pressed back into the cushions as far as he could go. _Fat bloody luck if you're trying to hide_, Draco thought. _You're nearly as big as Hagrid._

"B-because you want to f-fuck your _own_ mum, Draco," Greg stuttered.

There was a moment of shocked silence in the compartment, and then Draco's companions broke into howls of laughter.

"I di-di-di-di-di-didn't know you'd learned how to f-f-f-f-finish sentences," Draco spat in vicious imitation of Greg, but no one was paying him any heed. His hand itched for his wand, but it was more important that he arrive home without incident. Vince would pay eventually, though. He'd been growing increasingly impertinent since Christmas. Draco had been trying to ignore it – he had other things to deal with – but this train ride was the last straw.

"Oh, Greg!" Blaise wheezed delightedly just before Draco stormed out of the compartment.

Once he was clear of their window, he slowed. Which compartment had he seen Pansy go into? He strolled through the corridor, peering in the windows, and spied her lying with her head in Theo's lap. A quick glance at the other side of the compartment revealed Daphne and Millie. Draco slunk away, not wanting to be seen lingering like an orphan at the window.

He had a sudden, reckless urge to seek out Ginny, which was madness in itself considering he'd just been with her last night. Her appetite for him had grown to positively ravenous proportions as the antics of Dumbledore's Army grew more outlandish. Not that he was complaining – a scorching bout of sex was always the perfect way to work off the tensions of the extra Inquisitorial Squad shifts he'd been forced to pick up. He'd caught sight of her skulking about late at night last week with Longbottom and McMillan in tow and had been forced to Confound Pansy and then look oblivious as they scarpered off, no doubt congratulating themselves on the effectiveness of their shoddy Notice-Me-Not charms. The subterfuge against his own had made him surly, but two nights later Ginny had rewarded him most handsomely for his actions.

Most handsomely.

Two firsties appeared in the corridor. Draco fixed them with the stare a dragon might give prey on the borderline of being worth the chase. They froze in fear, then then gathered their wits about them and edged past him warily.

The train would be pulling into King's Cross any time now. Draco resigned himself to prowling the corridors until then.

* * *

After three hours at home, Draco was tired of his father. He didn't want to talk about the Dark Lord's wishes, didn't want to understand the recent Death Eater campaigns, didn't want to hear oblique references to hidden assets as contingency plans. He _wanted_ to be back at Hogwarts, glancing at the _Prophet_ headlines and then tossing the paper aside, waiting to catch a glimpse of green in Ginny's hair. It hadn't escaped his notice that his mother had disappeared as soon as the conversation turned from how nice it was to have Draco home to the recent successes of the Death Eaters. She'd still been able to pretend at Christmas. His father would never stop pretending. Did he think Draco was stupid, that he didn't notice how drawn they both looked? With a sinking feeling, Draco realised that his father was keeping up the act in an attempt to give him hope.

An owl had interrupted his father's litany and he set about immediately to writing a reply. Draco retrieved his Herbology text and joined his father in the drawing room (his father's opulent study had been usurped by the Dark Lord). Annoyed as he was, Draco was still painfully aware that the time he had with his parents was limited and his father's presence was a comforting reminder of a simpler time. He could hear the brisk cadence of his mother's heels on the parquet above the din of booted feet, each dull thud another reminder that this house was no longer his home. He redoubled his focus on his text, trying to ignore the intrusion.

"What is this?"

Draco looked up at the tone of his father's voice and out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of something that sent a reflexive pinprick of elation through him. _Hope_. Then his heart abruptly dropped through his shoes as he realised the implications of seeing Weasley-red hair in his home and he looked back down at his book, not really seeing anything. _Please_, he begged, but Ginny was the only person who had answered his prayers in the last year so his desperate plea unaddressed. _Not like this. _He took a moment to school his features as carefully as he could, certain that the slightest twinge would give him away. The stakes had never been higher.

"They say they've got Potter," his mother said.

The words broke him out of his shock. Simple curiosity had him looking her way. _It's just the Weasel King, _his mind screamed immediately when he saw the bound wizards before him, but he didn't trust his visceral reaction and he glanced about, looking for any trace of her behind the thugs tracking mud on the Persian rug. With a fresh jolt of fear, he recognised one of the thugs as Greyback.

His mother nodded at him. "Draco, come here."

Draco approached cautiously, grateful that Greyback was occupied with jostling his captives. The Weasel King flinched and staggered, and Granger winced as she was dragged along. Rounding out the triumvirate, as always, was Potter, rendered nearly unrecognisable under the hexing he'd suffered at the hands of the Snatchers. Despite his defeat, he stood ever defiant, staring blankly ahead. Was he reflecting on his imminent demise?

"Well, boy?" The werewolf's voice echoed throughout the hush of the room.

It was over. No more fighting, no more useless revolts. The Malfoys would be rewarded for their service and the Dark Lord would move into permanent quarters wherever he pleased – the Minister's house, Draco supposed. His family would be safe. It was everything Draco wanted. Why didn't he feel relieved?

"Well, Draco?" his father prompted, uncharacteristically impatient. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

Granger's bushy hair obscured her face, but she was slumped in resignation. Weasley chewed on his bloody lip, his shaggy red fringe, so close in colour to Ginny's, hanging in his eyes. _Hope._ Draco pushed the thought out of his head. There was no hope left for these three, and no hope left for her. But unlike Potter and her brother, she would live. He would teach her to live in a world without hope. The fire would seep out of her slowly and her hair would turn grey, but they would be together. And she would be broken, and once again it would be his fault. And the Dark Lord wouldn't be satisfied until everyone who did not serve him gleefully was as broken as she was. His mother. His father. Himself, in time.

He didn't want to live in a world without hope.

_There's good in you, Draco Malfoy._ Ginny's words echoed in his head so clearly that she might have been standing beside him. _One day you'll find that hope inside you and do what's right because you can't do anything else and your actions _will _matter_. "I can't – I can't be sure." Would his father ever forgive him? Even if he did, the Dark Lord wouldn't.

"But look at him carefully, look!" his father demanded. "Come closer! Draco..."

The Dark Lord would slaughter them all without a second thought. All he had to do was nod and they would be spared for something much more insidious. "I don't know." Repeating the lie was like lancing an infected wound. He was doing the right thing. It was empowering. A sick giddiness swept over him, and he stepped away from Potter before he did something rash. He turned to the fireplace and placed a trembling hand on the cool stone of the mantel. He needed to think. Potter needed to leave.

"Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"

His mother's voice sounded so hopeful. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't real, that it was too grey to be real hope, but he didn't have the heart. His newfound resolve wavered. Theoretically, he could be forgiven for not recognising Potter. But Granger was obviously Granger, just thinner and even more rumpled-looking than usual. A quick glance at the _Prophet_ would confirm it, and Draco would be exposed as a liar. "I...maybe...yeah," he stammered helplessly.

"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" his father shouted in triumph. "It's them, Potter's friends – Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name – ?"

They were so happy. Draco swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He couldn't turn around, couldn't look at Ginny's brother. This wasn't going at all like he had hoped. Ginny and her friends made rebellion look so easy. His control of the situation was slipping away with alacrity. "Yeah. It could be." He needed everyone to leave him alone so he could plot out his next misdirection.

Then things got much, much worse. Aunt Bella, drawn to chaos like a Niffler to gold, was suddenly in their midst, and any chance Draco had of getting Potter out of this evaporated on the spot. The Dark Lord was coming. Dark, desperate thoughts flitted through Draco's mind as he watched his aunt croon and shriek and curse and snarl, but he was paralysed. All he could do was watch. The churning black waves of her fanaticism swallowed any spark of hope left as Weasley was dragged from the room. _I'd kill Ginny_, he decided as Granger screamed in Aunt Bella's grasp and Greyback watched with glee. _Better a merciful death than this._

_

* * *

_

The Dark Lord's wrath had been worse than Draco imagined. Afterwards, Aunt Bella staggered to her feet and Disapparated before Draco's mother could stop her, Greyback following her lead. Draco dragged himself up onto the settee and tried to quell his shaking limbs.

"Help me, Draco." His mother was on the floor beside his father, hefting his arm over her shoulders as he struggled to stand.

Draco rushed to their sides, ignoring his body's protest, and ducked under his father's free arm, hoisting him to his feet. He started towards the settee but his mother turned towards the doorway and he followed, supporting his father until they reached the large bed his parents shared. They backed him up to the mattress and he sat heavily, his arms flying out to support him. Draco only had a moment to marvel at how _old_ his father seemed before his mother shooed him out of the room.

He wasn't sure how he made it back to his own bedroom, but his bed was inviting and he stretched out on it, aware of every muscle and nerve ending unfurling as he did so.

Potter was gone. He wasn't sure how, but it hardly mattered now. Potter was gone, and his family was somehow alive. He thought of his father, so haggard-looking, unable to walk on his own, and shuddered, consumed by guilt. If he had just admitted right away that it was Potter, the Dark Lord would have arrived before Aunt Bella and this whole debacle could've been avoided.

There was a soft knock at the door, and his mother entered. "Draco, darling." She took a seat on his bed and brushed the back of her hand against his forehead. "How are you feeling?" She was so very pale, and her hand shook faintly.

"I'm fine. How is Father?"

She bowed her head and didn't answer for a long moment. "Ever since Azkaban, he's been..." She gulped and looked very morose. "His body can't handle the things it used to. He's not as young as he once was."

He'd brought this on them with his lies. "Mother, I'm sorry," he blurted. "If I-"

She shushed him. "You did nothing wrong," she said adamantly, fluffing his pillows. "I just wish you hadn't been here to see this. You'll be back in school soon enough."

"What's going to happen to us?" he whispered.

His mother's eyes glimmered with tears and she shrugged helplessly.

"I can stay. I'll help you."

"Absolutely not. Your father and I, we want you safe. We want better for you," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

He thought of his father on the ground, his mother's screams, and his own overwhelming pain. The Dark Mark tingled on his arm. "I want better for all of us."

In truth, he just wanted to sink beneath the waves of unthinking obedience again, but it was no longer safe. No matter what he did now, his family wasn't safe. Was it better, then, to strive towards hope? Ginny would have answers. He couldn't wait to see her again.

She didn't come back to school.


	14. A Bountiful Harvest

A/N: Harry's and Voldemort's lines in this chapter were taken from _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_.

Thank you to everyone who read, alerted, favourited, and reviewed. Even those silent shows of appreciation heartened me. I know this story is...well, let's be blunt, it's a creepfest, so it means a lot to me that people were willing to stick with it. Thank you so, so much for the reviews – I love to hear from people. An ultra-special thanks to my two constant reviewers, Roni and Mila, who gave it to me straight and let me know what worked and what didn't.

**Chapter Fourteen: A Bountiful Harvest**

"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."

Draco winced as his father clamped down bruisingly on his shoulder and his mother's grip on his hand, already tight, began to crush his fingers. Potter's revelation left him strangely numb. So this was how it was going to end. He'd already seen himself dead so many times over during this night that one more condemnation hardly mattered, but his gaze immediately sought out Ginny Weasley on the other side of the Hall all the same for one last glance. He'd just located her flaming ponytail when he was hauled nearly off his feet by his father and shoved in the direction of the door. "Go, Cissa," he hissed and she plowed relentlessly ahead, her hand in an iron grip around Draco's. Draco couldn't help but feel that such flight was futile. He could never hide, not with the Dark Mark. Surely they knew that. But he stumbled on, and the notion that they loved him enough to try burned through his indifference and brought a lump to his throat.

The Dark Lord's voice rose above the crowd. "...and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy..."

His mother let out a tiny sob as she pushed past another spectator and stumbled into the wall.

"But you're too late," Potter all but sneered back. "You've missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago."

Draco nearly collided with his mother as her steps slowed.

"I took his wand from him."

She turned to Draco, eyes full of wonder, and he stared back at her, equally stunned. Potter was right, and they both knew it. So long as the Dark Lord believed his enemy, Draco was safe. His father was upon them a moment later and Draco grabbed onto him with his free hand. "I love you," he whispered to them, needing them to know in case things went wrong.

Just then the world was engulfed in a shade of red Draco knew all too well. _Hope._ His breath caught at the beauty of the sight and with a sigh, he relaxed into the light, surrendered to it, asked it to enter him and his family and everyone in the room. Hope was alive, a tangible thing. He stretched out his fingers and let it nuzzle his palm, a friendly fire to comfort him as two voices rang through the Hall.

The silence was deafening. The light shone on.

People started shouting. Draco turned to his parents and saw their faces bathed in red. Safe. They looked uncertain, craning their necks forward to discern what had just happened, and then his father gasped and laid a hand over his forearm. Draco's own Mark tingled faintly. "He's gone," he told them, because there was no other explanation for the light and the way the red figures of the crowd was surging forward towards Potter.

His father grabbed him in a bear hug. "We thought we'd lost you," he said before stepping away and letting his mother throw her arms around him.

"You're hurt!" she exclaimed tearfully, reaching up to touch his face.

He ducked her hand before she could make contact. "I think something's broken." He started glancing about the Hall, trying to make sense of the chaos. There was so much red.

"We should go," his father said.

"We can't," his mother said immediately. "Not without Bella."

"Cissa, we have to get out of here before anyone realises-"

"Harry Potter owes me a life debt," his mother snapped. "We will _not_ be leaving my sister to..." Her chin wobbled. "We need her."

Aunt Bella was dead. Draco remembered this now. The Dark Lord was dead too. The Dark Lord was dead? He had to be. Potter had been dead, but he wasn't anymore. Draco was so tired. The wood was hard against his back. He was sitting, he supposed. The world was red whether his eyes were open or closed. How relaxing. His parents were alive and safe. He tried to look beside him, and his eyeballs rolled crazily from side to side. "Where's Father?"

His mother's voice came to him from far away. "He's looking for Severus, dear heart. Just a bit longer." She squeezed his hand, though, so that meant she was close.

Severus was dead. The Dark Lord was dead. There was wood at his back. He knew that much. Was he supposed to find Vince? "Vince is dead."

"I'm sorry, darling."

He was shaking. He couldn't stop shaking. "I think Uncle Rod is dead."

"I think so too."

"I'm sorry. About Aunt Bella."

There was that squeeze again. The wood was still hard at his back. He focused on that for a moment. He was on a bench at a table. He was in the Great Hall. The patterns in front of his eyes were people. He could hear their voices. Yellow light flooded in through the-

Ginny. He sat bolt upright, berating himself viciously for forgetting about her until now. Where had the red gone? There! No, that was a brother. There! ...No, another brother. Panic rose in him as his eyes continued to dart around the Hall one step behind his brain. He finally spied her with her mother and sank back against the table with a sigh. He remembered that sickening moment that Molly Weasley's enraged shriek had rang out across the Great Hall and he'd thought that Ginny had been killed, and then the deep relief he'd felt when he'd seen her alive, red hair streaming like a banner. Aunt Bella had died instead. Aunt Bella was dead. Ginny was not. He was so tired.

"I couldn't find him." His father was back. Professor Snape was dead and gone.

"There's not much we can do for him, then. Let's get Bella." Aunt Bella. Still dead.

"Stay here. I'll get her."

"Eat, Draco."

A thick slice of buttered toast was thrust into his hand. The smell made him wrinkle his nose. He dropped it behind him in disgust.

"You need to eat something. Turn around and have some pumpkin juice."

"_Mother_," he growled as a cool glass touched his hand.

"_Draco_," she growled back, almost playful as she pressed the glass against him.

"Draco."

His head shot up at that voice. Ginny was standing before him, looking as exhausted as he felt. It didn't matter that she was filthy and unsmiling and looking fit to collapse at any moment. This is what he wanted, not a glass of pumpkin juice. He wanted to take her to Burbage's quarters, gather her up in his arms, and sleep for days. He staggered to his feet.

"Harry wants you to have this." She held out Draco's wand, the one Potter had taken from him over Easter.

She'd been gone for weeks. He wanted to ask her where she'd been, if she'd been scared, if she'd missed him like he'd missed her. He wanted to tell her about his acts of sabotage, how he'd been fighting in memory of her since she'd left. There would be time for that later – hours and days and years. They were on the same side now. There was no need to hide. He plucked the wand out of her hand with a grin wide enough to make his injured face throb and took another step forward.

She took a quick step back and threw up a hand to collide with his chest. "I've got to go back to Harry now," she said, her expression impossibly gentle.

"He can wait a few minutes. I'm sure he's surrounded by admirers." He tried to lay his hand over hers, but she jerked away as soon as he touched her.

"I'm...going back to Harry now," she repeated.

He could drown in her eyes. Maybe he _was_ drowning.

"I'm glad you made it through," she whispered. "Goodbye." She turned away from him.

They'd never once said goodbye. Not at Christmas, not at Easter when she hadn't come back, not even last year after that terrible night when she'd ultimately left him for... The meaning of her words hit him with full force. _Back to Harry._ No. No, that wasn't going to happen. She was walking away, her red ponytail swaying behind her, and he willed his legs to start after her. "Ginny, wait!"

Small fingers clamped around his wrist and dragged him backwards. "Don't," his mother ordered.

He stopped to pry her fingers off him. Ginny hadn't turned back. "No, Mother, I-"

"Going after that girl won't bring your aunt back."

Now he was dumbfounded. "What?"

"It was going to happen anyway," she said softly, taking hold of his arm.

"No," he insisted stubbornly as Ginny's red ponytail disappeared into a knot of survivors. This wasn't supposed to happen at all. What could his mother possibly know of it?

"Yes," she hissed, her face flushed and angry. "That girl didn't kill Bella any more than you did. There's no reason to blame her for this. You _will not_ seek vengeance on her or her family, do you hear me?"

"Vengeance?" he echoed in bewilderment.

"Promise me. Now."

"I...promise," he said, bemused, and she stopped glaring at him.

His father approached, carrying a large burden wrapped in his cloak. "They've opened the Floo connections."

"Good." His mother was suddenly pale. "Let's go."

"No!" Draco cried. He glanced about wildly, looking for Ginny. "I need to do something first." All traces of Weasley-red hair seemed to have disappeared from the Hall. _Back to Harry._ This wasn't happening. It couldn't happen. As his mother steered him out of the Hall he combed through his memories, looking for what he'd done wrong, the thing he had to make up for before he could stop this.

He burst out of the Floo and promptly fell on his arse on the marble floor of the receiving salon, his landing rough enough to rattle his teeth. His mother stumbled over him with a yelp a second later and went careening into the loveseat.

The shock of his impact brought his thoughts into alignment. He'd done nothing wrong. There was nothing to make up for. She just didn't want him. He fought down a wave of nausea.

"Wasn't expecting that," he heard his mother say. "I'm going to go help your father...did you hurt yourself?"

He tried to answer her but all that came out was a choked sob. He shook his head vehemently – no, had not hurt himself. Tears stung his eyes, and he was too exhausted to stop them from spilling down his cheeks.

She just didn't want him.

When he felt his mother's arms encircle him, the tenderness was too much and he gave himself over to grief, to noisy, ugly sobs that clogged his throat. How could she do this to him, after everything they'd been through? Hadn't they shared everything? Didn't they know each other's secret hearts? Hadn't he loved her enough?

"I'm so sorry, love. You're safe. It's over now," his mother cooed as she rocked him.

He buried his face in his mother's shoulder; the pressure on his broken face was excruciating but he burrowed deeper, hoping that the pain would Obliviate him. _It's over now_. That only made him cry harder. Every breath brought fresh agony and more sobs that choked off his breath and sent knives through his chest.

"You'll feel better after your face is set and you sleep, darling. You've suffered a terrible shock tonight."

_Ginny_.

* * *

A/N: ...*ducks rotten tomato* What? Don't give me that look. It said _right in the summary_ that the story was canon compliant! But remember this, dear reader: canon ends in nineteen years, and when it comes time to write the sequel I won't waste a second undoing what JKR hath wrought. Don't dream it's over.


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